


(love is) a hand-me-down brew

by ace_verity



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), DC Extended Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, POV Alternating, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23187916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ace_verity/pseuds/ace_verity
Summary: When Dinah Lance takes Renee's offer of a job at her new cafe, she's only looking for a fresh start.She certainly doesn't expect to fall in love.---Helena Bertinelli is on a quest for vengeance, and she's determined not to let anything distract her from that quest.Except, it seems, the barista at the best cafe in the East End.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Dinah Lance, Cassandra Cain & Harleen Quinzel, Cassandra Cain & Renee Montoya, Dinah Lance & Harleen Quinzel, Dinah Lance & Renee Montoya, Helena Bertinelli & Cassandra Cain, Helena Bertinelli & Dinah Lance, Helena Bertinelli & Harleen Quinzel, Helena Bertinelli & Renee Montoya, Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance, Renee Montoya & Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 131
Kudos: 302





	1. Chapter 1

It’s 6:45 in the morning on a miserably rainy Tuesday, and Dinah’s already in a foul mood. 

She’d slept through her alarm, for one thing, and in her hurry to get out the door, she forgot her umbrella. She’d arrived at the cafe mercifully only two minutes late and irritable with her hair dripping rainwater on the floor, only to find Renee cursing at the mixer in the back, which had evidently chosen today of all days to break down in the middle of a mixing a batch of cranberry-orange muffin batter. 

Luckily, there are enough muffins left from yesterday to make it through the morning rush — if only Dinah can find them. She had specifically told Harley last night to put the extras in the walk-in fridge on a tray, but Harley had apparently taken that to mean “anywhere _but_ in the walk-in fridge” and had stored them, as Dinah discovers after searching the whole cafefor ten minutes, in neat rows in the tiny cooler under the counter, between the soy and almond milk cartons, for literally no goddamn reason. 

They open in fifteen minutes, Dinah’s extracting muffins one-by-one from the cooler, Renee’s hollering at a repairman over the phone, and the coffee isn't even brewing yet.

So of course the door opens with a cheery jingle.

“We don’t open until seven,” Dinah calls, still crouching by the cooler. _Shit_. It had come out a lot snippier than she’d intended, so now they’ll probably get a one-star Yelp review that will make Renee go bonkers.

“Okay,” the customer — a woman, from the sound of it — says blankly before Dinah can straighten up. “I’ll just — wait.”

The door jingles again, and when Dinah finally gets a hold of the last muffin and turns around, the woman’s just standing there outside the door under the awning, arms crossed. 

It’s the kind of move that could come across as passive-aggressive, but the woman looks so awkward waiting there that Dinah doesn’t think she intended it that way at all and instantly feels guilty for snapping. So she ducks out from behind the counter and pulls open the door.

The woman starts, surprised, and frowns in confusion.

“Hey, I’m sorry about that,” Dinah tells her sincerely. “Rough morning. Come on in, coffee’s on me.”

“But you’re closed?” the woman says, her cadence turning it into a question, and Dinah shrugs.

“Nah, it’s alright. I’ll make an exception. I’m Dinah, by the way.” She holds the door open, and the woman hesitates before sliding carefully past. 

“Helena,” she offers, wrinkling her nose at the water sloughing off her overcoat in a way that makes her vaguely resemble a wet, unhappy cat. 

It’s cute, but Dinah thinks Renee might kill her if she made a move on a customer, so she pushes the thought away and heads back behind the counter. 

“There are coat hooks along the wall, if you want to hang that up. What can I get you?”

The customer — _Helena_ , Dinah reminds herself — looks up at the menu board, and her eyes widen comically. “Uh.”

Dinah grins. “Overwhelming, I know. Harley — the other barista — wrote it all out. It’s very on-brand for her.”

It is. Harley had used some kind of neon chalk markers, so dazzlingly bright it almost hurts to look at the board. Each item is tagged with a lengthy, cheerful description in loopy print almost too small to read, and glittery illustrations of coffee cups and whatever else had struck Harley’s fancy embellish the text. 

“I think I’ll just have an espresso. Double espresso, actually.”

“Need some caffeine, huh? Rough night or early morning?”

“Bit of both.” Helena’s hovering a few feet from the register, glancing around the cafe, still wearing the wet coat. The espresso machine starts up with a pleasant burbling sound, and Dinah drums her nails against the counter. This is normally her favorite part of the day — early morning, when the cafe is quiet, before the rush of harried businesspeople and worn-out college students and chatting moms pushing strollers — and even though the morning had gotten off to a bad start, Dinah feels a familiar sense of calm starting to return.

It’s broken, of course, by a clattering sound and a muffled exclamation of _“Shit!”_

Helena jumps, startled. “What —”

“That’s just Renee. She owns the place. Our mixer broke this morning, she’s been fighting it for an hour — You want this for here or to go?”

Helena blinks, then fumbles in her coat pocket. “To go. Please. Uh, how much —”

Dinah waves her off. “On the house. Stop back in some time, alright? It was nice meeting you.”

“You too.” Helena takes the coffee gratefully. “Thank you.”

 _“Dinah!”_ Renee hollers from the back. 

“Gotta go.” Dinah raises a hand in farewell. “Have a good one.” She pushes off from the counter and heads for the back, hearing the bell over the door chime a moment later as Helena takes her leave. 

Between the two of them, she and Renee actually manage to get the mixer up and working again, and they emerge — Renee with a spatter of muffin batter in her hair — right on time to open.

“The hell?” Renee grabs the tip jar and turns to Dinah. “We serve someone already?”

There’s a crisp ten-dollar bill tucked neatly in the jar, and Dinah huffs a laugh. _Of course she paid._ “Yeah, she came in early, completely drenched. I felt bad, alright?” It’s not the full story, but it’ll do.

“On the house?”

“Well, clearly she paid —”

Renee rolls her eyes. “You’re a sucker for a pretty girl, Dinah Lance. The last thing we need around here is another stray, you hear?”

“Who said she was pretty?”

Renee just fixes her with a look, and Dinah knows better than to protest further. The door opens to admit their first — well, second — customer of the day, and that puts an end to the conversation. By the end of the day, Dinah’s all but forgotten about Helena — probably just a one-time customer, she thinks. The most she can reasonably hope for is a good Yelp rating.

She thinks a double espresso on the house merits at least four stars, maybe even five.

\---

The espresso is _good_ — easily the best Helena’s had in America so far. It gives her the jolt of energy she needs to make it through a rush-hour stakeout of Stefano Galante’s commute; she’d been up all night tracking one of his men with no success, and when it had started to rain at 6:30, she’d given up and headed back to her motel.

That is, until she’d caught sight of a brightly-lit little cafe across the street, and the thought of a hot espresso had made her mouth water. 

Which is how she finds herself back in her motel, finishing off the espresso and berating herself for fucking up so bad. 

Helena knows better than this. She knows better than to give _anyone_ information about her identity, let alone her real _name_. She’d almost taken off her coat before remembering that she was dressed for a fight, weapons belt and all. It won’t do for her to become a regular customer there, or anywhere for that matter, not when Galante’s men have started to catch on to the Huntress’s presence and mission — if anyone happens to recognize her stopping in for a coffee, she’s going to have a serious problem. 

But the thing is, Helena had liked the little cafe. And she wants to think that Dinah’s invitation for her to come back again wasn’t just coming from a desire to build a customer base. 

She’ll go back again in a few days, she decides. Order a coffee, maybe a pastry, then put it out of her mind.

After all, just one more visit can’t hurt. 

Helena returns to the cafe on Friday afternoon. It’s fairly quiet — she assumes that the lunch rush has already passed — but Dinah’s nowhere in sight. There’s a different woman behind the counter, one with dip-dyed pigtails who snaps her gum and grins widely when Helena walks in.

“Hiya, dollface,” she says brightly. “What can I get ya?”

“Espresso to go, please,” Helena answers. The woman’s name badge is bedazzled with glitter and tiny rhinestones. _Harley Q_ , it reads in the same looping neon script that covers the menu board. 

“One espresso, comin’ up.” Harley pushes back from the counter and glides — glides? — to the espresso machine. She’s wearing pink roller skates, and a laugh escapes Helena before she can stop herself.

Harley spins around and raises her eyebrows. “Somethin’ funny?” She doesn’t sound mad, just cheerfully curious.

Helena clears her throat, feeling awkward nonetheless. “Sorry, I just — I like your skates.”

Harley beams. “Hey, thanks, doll! Hear that, Dinah? _This_ gal likes my skates!”

“They’re still a hazard, Harley.” Dinah emerges from the kitchen, retying her apron, and does a double-take when she sees Helena.

“Oh, hey! Helena, right? You came back!” Dinah sounds surprised, but pleased, and Helena’s suddenly glad she’d returned, even if it’s for the last time. 

Helena shrugs, playing it as casual as possible. “The espresso was too good to pass up.”

“It’s our _specialty_ ,” Harley confides, skating back to the counter with a paper cup in hand. “That’ll be three dollars, ‘kay?”

“Sure.” Helena passes over a five, then drops the change in the tip jar. 

“Thanks, hon! Have a good one!” To Dinah, Harley says, “I’m gonna see if Renee needs help with the prep. You know where to find me!” She waves brightly at Helena and turns on her heel, skating through the entry to the kitchen.

Dinah shakes her head, sighing, “That girl is crazy,” her tone of exasperation tinged with fondness. “Don’t let her scare you off, alright? I promise we’re a respectable establishment. Despite Harley’s best efforts to change that.” She grins at Helena like she’s letting her in on the joke. “Stop in soon, alright? I’ll give you a muffin on the house next time.”

“Yeah, alright,” Helena finds herself agreeing without even thinking.

Whoops.

“Cool. Hey, I won’t keep you. Have a good weekend!”

“You too,” she responds, and then she’s back on the sidewalk wondering what the hell just happened to _just one more visit_.

After that, Helena gives up her plan as a lost cause. She thinks the human contact is good for her; after all, she hasn’t interacted with anyone who wasn’t either an assassin or a soon-to-be victim of her own crossbow since she was nine years old, and Helena’s pretty sure that that’s generally considered unhealthy.

The next time she stops by the Question Cafe, neither Harley nor Dinah are anywhere to be seen. There’s a shorter woman behind the counter — it must be the owner. Renee, if Helena remembers rightly. 

It’s a mid-morning lull, but the cafe is still busier than Helena’s seen it yet. The tables are mostly taken by college-age students typing feverishly on laptops and the occasional retiree sitting with a newspaper.

“Morning. What’ll you have?”

“Uh, a cappuccino, please. To go. Is, um —” Helena falters and clears her throat.

Renee raises her eyebrows expectantly.

“Is Dinah here?” Helena asks, feeling horrendously self-conscious and remembering why she doesn’t usually do the whole going-out-in-public thing.

Renee gives her a look that’s pure suspicion. “Who’s askin’? If you’re with that asshole Sionis, you can leave and don’t come back, you hear?”

“No, no,” Helena hastily assures her, shoving her hands in her pockets to keep from fidgeting. “I just — wanted to say hello. I’m Helena?”

There she goes, introducing herself again. She’s really losing her touch. And either way, she doubts Dinah’s talked about her.

But recognition dawns on Renee’s face nonetheless. “Hey, you’re the new regular she mentioned!”

“Well —” Helena wouldn’t go that far; she’s only been there twice before now, but Renee keeps going undeterred.

“Nice to meet you. Renee Montoya.” She sticks out her hand over the register, and Helena shakes it obligingly. “I own this joint. You new to Gotham?”

“Sort of.” Renee’s still looking at her like that’s not enough of an answer, so Helena adds, “I lived here when I was a kid.”

“Welcome back, then. That’ll be three-fifty.” As Helena reaches for her wallet, Renee turns around to make the drink, still talking. “Today’s Dinah’s day off, but she’ll be in the rest of the week. Stop in and say hi, she’d like that.” Her smile when she hands Helena the coffee is far too knowing, and Helena clears her throat and holds out the money.

“Sure,” she says, and focuses hard on putting the change in the tip jar, pretty sure she’s blushing. 

“Nice meeting ya,” Renee tells her, and Helena nods and says, “Same to you,” before making her escape. 

Apparently she’s a regular there now. Helena’s never been a regular anywhere before, unless she counts the motel she’s been staying at since she’d arrived in Gotham, and she’s not sure how she feels about it. Having a predictable routine, she’d learned from Sal and Luca, is dangerous — _a good way to get yourself killed_ , they'd said sternly.

But for some reason, Helena thinks it might be worth the risk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Black Coffee" from Ella Fitzgerald. I'm so excited to be working on this AU! It'll probably end up at 4 chapters, but that could change.
> 
> Coming up with a name for Renee's coffeeshop was way harder than it should have been. I went with Question Cafe as a reference to the fact that in the DC Comics, Renee Montoya takes on the persona of the Question.
> 
> I also researched the habits of Italians re: drinking coffee. Usually, cappuccinos and other coffee drinks made with milk are strictly reserved for breakfast/morning, as they are considered too heavy for consumption later in the day or after meals. Espressos tend to be an afternoon or post-meal pick-me-up. I personally know nothing about coffee, so all my information is based on what I can find on the Internet. If you catch any inaccuracies, let me know and I'll correct them!
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think (and if there's anything you'd like to see from this AU or in a later fic, drop me a comment - I'm always open to new ideas)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're all staying safe and healthy throughout quarantine/lockdown/social distancing! Here's something to take your mind off things for a little while - hope you enjoy!  
> Content warning: mentions of minor injury and allusions to suspected domestic violence (which does not actually occur).

“Your girl was in again yesterday,” Renee tells Dinah with a smirk, and Dinah sputters.

“She’s not — Oh, fuck you.” Dinah rolls her eyes and turns away, but Renee isn’t finished. 

“It’s pretty obvious, Lance. Came in yesterday, asking if you were here, blushing like crazy. I’m sure if you asked…”

“What happened to your policy about dating customers?” Dinah raises her eyebrows.

Renee waves it away. “You know that was only to keep Harley in line.” She leans in, and even though her smile lingers, there’s a softness to Renee’s expression. “Give it a shot. You deserve to be happy, kid.”

The door jingles, signaling the arrival of a customer, and Renee moves away to stand behind the register, leaving Dinah alone, touched by her words and yet uncertain. 

A couple years ago, she probably would have done it — asked Helena out for a drink, not looking for anything serious or expecting it to really go beyond a few dates. Then she'd lost her mother, and by the time she'd finally quit Sionis' club, Dinah hadn't gone on a date in months. She still hasn't — Harley had flirted with her an outrageous amount when she first started working at the cafe and still does from time to time, but Dinah is pretty sure that that's just how Harley is with pretty much everyone. Hence Renee's policy.

Bottom line is, Dinah doesn't know if she's ready for all that, and Helena seems too sweet for Dinah to feel comfortable taking that sort of risk. 

Dinah’s deep enough in thought that she doesn’t notice Harley approaching until she pops up seemingly out of nowhere at Dinah’s side.

"You seem down, doll. What's eatin ya?”

“I’m fine.” Dinah turns to busy herself with wiping down the already-spotless counter.

“Pshh, you can't fool me, you know that! Guy problems? _Girl_ problems?” Harley gasps like she’s had a revelation. “Oh! Is it that tall gal who liked my skates? Helena, that's it! She looks like a catch, Dinah, I'll tell ya."

This is exactly the last thing Dinah needs right now. "Leave it alone, Harley."

"Aw, c'mon, you two would be cute together! Meetin’ in a coffee shop, so _romantic_ —” 

"For fuck’s sake, Harley, I said _leave it_."

Harley pouts, raising her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, sheesh.” She leans forward confidentially, adopting a thoughtful tone. “Y'know, Dinah, psychologically speaking, it's _completely_ normal to feel shy about puttin’ yourself out there and openin’ up to someone new after a major loss. Give it time, m’kay?" 

Dinah scoffs. "What, are you my therapist now?" 

Harley wags her finger at Dinah. "Ah-ah. Not a therapist, a _psychiatrist_. Two _very_ different things."

"A psychiatrist working in a cafe.” Dinah casts her a dubious look. “You sure you're qualified to be giving out advice?"

Harley mock-winces. "Ouch, doll, that one hurts. Just think about it!" Harley taps her temple, then points at Dinah and grins before sauntering over to the register to take an order.

As batshit insane as Harley is, like, ninety-nine percent of the time, Dinah has to admit she kind of has a point. Dinah definitely isn’t ready to jump into anything new, but — well, Harley had told her to _give it time._

Dinah thinks she can do that. 

The next time Helena comes into the cafe, she doesn’t flee as soon as she gets her order. Instead, Dinah watches as she takes a table along the far wall, sitting in the chair that faces the door, glances furtively at the other patrons, and, seemingly reassured, draws a stack of papers out of her bag and settles in. 

The sight makes Dinah smile, and when there’s a lull halfway through the morning, she crosses over to Helena’s table.

“Hey, good to see you back again. Guess Harley didn't scare you away after all."

Helena shrugs. "Nah, I could take her." She says it so nonchalantly that it makes Dinah laugh, and after a moment, Helena cracks a little smile too.

“So what are you working on?” Dinah glances over the papers, which seem to be typed in — “Is that _Russian?_ Damn.”

Helena fiddles with the papers as if her instinct is to hide them from sight, then folds her hands atop the table. “Oh — yes, it is.”

Dinah squints at it — total gibberish to her. “You a translator or something?”

“Um, yeah. Pretty much.” Helena seems tense, which — weird. Dinah doesn’t really want to think about that too deeply right now, since she can’t come up with any reasons for Helena to be lying about her work — her work with _documents in Russian_ — that aren’t totally shady. A translator she is, then. 

“Impressive.” Dinah thinks it’s best to change the subject. “How’s the latte?”

“Oh! Uh, it’s good. Really good, I mean, it’s great. I like the, um, the cinnamon in it?”

“Yeah? That was my idea. Harley always wants to add weird shit, so if you ever find glitter in your drink, that’s on her.”

Helena wrinkles her nose. “Ah.”

The gesture is just as endearing as it had been the day they’d met, and it sparks a memory in Dinah. “Oh! I owe you a muffin, don’t I? Want me to grab you one?”

“I should be going, actually,” Helena says almost apologetically, then adds tentatively, “But I’ll be back on Thursday? If that’s alright for you, I mean —”

“Sounds perfect,” Dinah assures her. “Looking forward to it.” She smiles at Helena, who is _definitely_ blushing. Wow. Dinah didn’t know that someone that fair-skinned could turn such a deep shade of red, so she takes pity on Helena and raises a hand in a wave before walking back behind the register, studiously ignoring the way Renee and Harley both have their eyes on her.

As soon as the door shuts behind Helena, Harley claps her hands, bouncing up and down. “That was _too cute_ ,” she gasps theatrically, beaming ear-to-ear.

“Shut up,” Dinah grumbles, rolling her eyes when Renee punches her on the shoulder.

“Not bad, Lance.” 

“Don’t you have a business to run, Montoya?” Dinah tries for exasperation, but she can’t quite stop smiling for the rest of the day.

True to her word, Helena comes back on Thursday — same routine, mysterious Russian papers and all. 

And then she comes back the next day, and the next, and the day after that. Pretty soon, she’s as much a fixture of Question Cafe as the menu board and Harley’s roller skates.

Helena’s there one particularly busy afternoon at her usual table when Cass traipses in the door, backpack slung over one shoulder. “Hey, Dinah.”

“Hey, kid. How was school?”

“Eh.” Cass shrugs, but Dinah’s not concerned — that’s her standard response. 

“Lots of homework today?”

Cass grimaces. “Yeah. Can I work in the office?”

“Sorry, kid, I think Renee’s back there doing tax sh- stuff. Grab a table, I’ll get Harley to make you one of those fraps you like.”

As if on cue, Harley comes in from the back, arms laden with three stacked trays of clean mugs. “Hiya, sugar! Want a Harley Quinn original?”

“Yes, _please_.” To Dinah, Cass says, “All the tables are taken.”

“Those soccer moms have been here too long anyway, you can just kick them out,” Harley suggests cheerfully, pumping an alarming amount of chocolate syrup into a plastic cup.

“Harley, no. Cass, I’m sure Helena will let you sit with her.”

“Who’s that?” Cass frowns. Right — Dinah’s gotten so accustomed to Helena’s presence that she’d forgotten Cass hasn’t met her yet. 

"Over there." Dinah nods to where Helena is sitting, brow scrunched in concentration as she pores over yet another stack of papers. "You'll like her, she's nice."

Cass heaves a sigh. “Okay.” She accepts the frappuccino that Harley presents her with a flourish and heads to the far table.

Dinah can’t overhear what they’re saying, but she gives Cass an encouraging thumbs-up after Cass sits down. Dinah bites her lip, trying not to smile — Helena seems baffled by the development, but she’s apparently taking it in stride. Plus, Cass never stays shy for long, and soon she’s chatting up a storm while Helena nods along, looking half-bewildered and half-amused. 

“She’s kinda weird,” Cass tells Dinah once Helena’s left and they’ve closed for the day. “But, like, cool. Did you know that she knows _seven languages?”_

“I did not know that.”

“Yeah! And she promised to teach me a bunch of, like, Russian swears if I get an A on my essay.”

Dinah snorts. “Wonder what Renee will think of that.”

Cass shrugs, unconcerned, and hops up to perch on the edge of the counter, legs swinging. “I bet she’s a spy.”

Dinah laughs. “What makes you say that?”

Cass counts on her fingers, saying, “She knows a ton of languages. She was dressed in all black, like a ninja. She got kinda nervous when I asked where she works. And she was weird. See? Definitely a spy.”

It would actually explain a lot, now that Dinah’s thinking about it. “A spy, huh? You could be onto something there, kid.” She ruffles Cass’s hair as she passes, mulling it over. _Spy_ would probably be the second-best scenario, the first being _translator_ , as Helena had claimed — a socially awkward translator, admittedly, but a translator nonetheless. After that, it goes downhill — maybe Russian mob, if there even is a Russian mob in Gotham.

"Is there a Russian mob in Gotham?" Dinah later asks Renee, who despite having quit the force a year ago still knows pretty much everything about crime in the city. 

Renee squints at her. "Please do not fucking tell me you're in trouble with the mob."

"No! Shit, no. It's just — Cass thinks Helena's a spy, and it would make sense, but… I don't exactly want to get tied up in anything bad, you know?"

"Oh." Renee relaxes. "Yeah, Cass was telling me about that. I don't know, Dinah, I think if your girl's involved with the mob, it ain't the Russians."

The way she says it puts Dinah on edge. "What are you saying?" _Seven languages_ , Cass had said — just because one of them is Russian, that doesn't mean it's Helena's first choice.

Renee sighs, waving a hand. "Forget about it. Just keep an eye out. There's something up for sure, but I'm not gonna make any accusations. And Dinah, be careful, especially if you're thinkin' about taking things further, alright?"

"Yeah, of course." 

"Oh, Jesus." Renee groans. "Harley's got her skates on again, I'm gonna go stop her before someone sues."

"Good luck with that."

It's all she can think about now — seeing Helena, Dinah's positive she's hiding _something_. It can't be _that_ bad, Dinah reasons; after all, Helena seems like a genuinely nice person, awkward or not. She always greets Dinah and Renee and asks them how they're doing with real concern, she listens to Cass talk about school, she even samples the new recipes Harley experiments with (which is a feat of bravery, as far as Dinah is concerned). 

Not to mention, Helena's kind of adorable, like, at all times, without even trying. Sometimes she brings a novel — classics that Dinah vaguely remembers from high school, like _The Great Gatsby_ or _To Kill a Mockingbird_ — to read instead of working, and Dinah catches her lips moving as she reads, like she's mouthing the words. Whenever Renee or Harley or Cass or even Dinah herself talk to Helena, Helena focuses so intensely on the conversation that it would be unnerving if she didn't seem so quietly happy to be talking to them.

Which is kind of sad, if Dinah's being honest. Helena never mentions any family, doesn't even text or scroll through social media when she's at the cafe, and Dinah wonders if Helena's reserved nature — and the way she seems to catalog every conversation like it's something new and strange — is the result of a life of solitude. 

And that revelation is enough to make Dinah decide that, spy or Mafiosa or whatever the hell she might be, Helena's place at Question Cafe isn't a matter of dispute.

Dinah has the afternoon shift, having traded with Harley to accommodate Harley's roller derby match, and when Dinah walks into the cafe that day, the first thing she spots is the stunning bouquet of deep red roses at the end of the counter by the register. At first she assumes that it's a gift to Renee from Ellen, so she passes without a second thought, waving at Helena — who's already there at her usual table — and grabbing her apron from the back.

"Hey, doll," Harley greets her, but she seems — nervous, almost. And if Dinah read the schedule right, Harley should have clocked out by now. 

Something isn't right.

Before Dinah can question Harley, Renee comes around the corner. "You see the flowers?" she asks without preamble, eyes flinty and tone hard. She doesn't wait for an answer. "Go look at the note."

Dinah does as she's told, Harley and Renee trailing expectantly behind her. 

_Songbird,_

_Missing you and your lovely voice ever so much. I'd love to have you back._

_xx Roman_

"Shit," Dinah mutters, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees Helena glance over then quickly look away. "Did Victor drop these off?" 

"No, just some delivery guy." Renee's watching Dinah carefully. "What are you gonna do?"

Rather than answer, Dinah seizes the roses and casts them unceremoniously into the trash, then drops the note on top and raises her eyebrows at Renee. "How's that for an answer?"

Harley claps her hands gleefully. "You tell 'em, Dinah! I was hopin' you'd do that!" She checks the time and adds, "Gotta run. Toodles, ladies!" She blows them a kiss and sashays out the door.

"Sure you're alright?" Renee asks. "This the first time he's done this kinda shit?"

"First in a while," Dinah responds, exhaling heavily and drawing a hand through her hair. "Months, come to think of it." Truth be told, she'd almost forgotten about 'that asshole Sionis,' as Renee exclusively refers to him. 

Renee still has her brow furrowed, a sure sign that she isn't done fussing. "I have a few friends on the force, we could try filing a restraining order."

"Renee, seriously. It's fine."

And it is, mostly — more irritating than anything else. Renee makes Dinah promise to tell her if it escalates any further and leaves it at that — albeit a bit reluctantly. It’s strange to Dinah, to be reminded suddenly of where she’d been a year ago, to realize how much _happier_ she is now that she’s away from Roman Sionis and working with Renee and Harley, who genuinely care about her in their own unique ways. When Renee had approached Dinah to offer her a job as the second-in-command at the cafe, Dinah had seen the invitation for what it was — a way out — and had told herself that it was only temporary, until she got back on her feet and forged a new path.

Dinah isn’t sure when her escape route became the new path she’d hoped for, but it’s — okay. It’s good, actually. 

And when Helena glances up from her reading, catching Dinah’s eye and smiling her adorably crooked smile — well, that’s even better, Dinah thinks.

So life is good, and Dinah feels like she has things under control. The feeling lasts a few glorious days, and Dinah savors them. She could get used to this, she thinks.

Then Cass comes up to her as she’s counting the register after closing and says, “So I think there’s something wrong with Helena.”

It’s a comment that might have invited a quip in response, if Cass didn’t sound so dead serious, and Dinah immediately closes the register and straightens up. “What’s going on?”

She keeps her voice low, but Renee must hear even from the back, because she appears in the doorway before Cass can answer. “Cass?” Renee crosses to stand next to her, glancing at Dinah. “What happened?”

Cass shuffles nervously. “I was sitting across from her today like usual —”

“Who, kiddo?” Renee breaks in gently.

“Helena. And she sort of — like, rubbed at her eye, and she was wearing foundation or cover-up or something, but some of it came off. And I could see a bruise there, like she has a black eye. When she saw me looking she went to the bathroom, and then she came back and it was covered again, so I didn't say anything. And on her neck, too, there were, like —" Cass motions to her neck — "marks here, like bruises."

Something cold and unpleasant tightens in Dinah’s core, and she trades a look with Renee, who seems to be thinking exactly what Dinah is. Cass, too, Dinah’s certain — the kid’s smart as a whip, on top of the fact that Cass had spent enough time in the foster system before reaching Renee that she’d grown up far too fast.

“Hey,” Renee says, voice firm but kind, “you did good telling us, kid.” She wraps an arm around Cass’s shoulders, pulling her into a half-hug. “I’m almost done here, alright? How about you go next door, order us a pizza, check out the Redbox and pick out a movie for tonight?” 

Cass takes the money Renee hands her. “I’m not watching some dumb cop movie,” she warns.

Renee rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you want. And no anchovies on the pizza, you hear?”

“I know, I know. Bye, Dinah.” 

“Bye, Cass.”

As soon as Cass is out the door, Renee’s shoulders sag, and she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Shit, Dinah.”

Dinah bites her lip, concern washing over her as she scours her memory for any sign, any indicator that might have alerted her before now. "She's never mentioned anyone. A partner, I mean. But I still think we should — I don't know, talk to her. See if she needs help."

Renee nods. "You up for that? Not that — Teasing aside, I think she's most comfortable around you."

It's true, and Dinah finds herself agreeing without a second thought. "Yeah, of course." 

It's even harder than she'd anticipated, trying to find a way to bring it up. Dinah finally decides to just pull Helena aside the next time she visits the cafe and tell her what Cass had seen, then go from there. 

As it turns out, that plan is unnecessary. Helena doesn't show up for nearly a week, and when she finally walks in the door midmorning one day, Dinah lets out a sigh of relief that she didn't even realize she'd been holding. 

Dinah's running through her planned script in her head as she takes Helena's order nearly on autopilot, but then Helena holds out her card to pay and Dinah's train of thought is completely derailed, because Helena's knuckles are split and painfully mottled with bruises.

Dinah gasps. "Jesus, Helena, what happened?"

Helena looks confused, then follows Dinah's gaze to her hands and makes a dismissive noise. "Oh, it's nothing." 

"Sure doesn't look like _nothing_ to me." Dinah studies Helena, who drops her gaze almost immediately, then sighs. "Alright, you grab a seat, I'll bring your coffee when it's done, okay?"

Helena hesitates, then says, "Alright. Um, thanks. Oh, wait —" She holds out her card again.

“Uh-uh. On the house.”

Helena narrows her eyes and doesn’t budge until Dinah relents, taking her card and swiping it. Helena takes it back, evidently satisfied, and goes to sit at her usual table. 

A few minutes later, Dinah sits down across from her, setting down the cappuccino and brandishing the tube of (probably expired) Neosporin she’d found in the first aid kit buried under a stack of files in the office. “Give me your hand.”

“What? No, I’m fine.”

Dinah fixes her with a Look — usually, Harley is the one receiving this particular Look as a result of her doing something like filling all the sugar shakers with edible sugar-glitter. It works on Helena, who hasn’t had time to build up immunity like Harley has, and she reluctantly holds out her injured hand. Dinah takes it, refusing to think about how a static-like spark seems to shiver between their palms at the contact, and uses her free hand to gently dab ointment on the areas where the skin has split. Out of her peripheral vision, Dinah can see Helena watching her with — confusion? wonder? Dinah can’t tell; whenever she tries to catch Helena’s eye, Helena drops her gaze to the table.

“There,” Dinah says when she’s satisfied, running her thumb gently across the uninjured skin below the knuckles before drawing her hand away. Helena’s hand lingers, suspended in midair, for a fraction of a second before Helena pulls away like she’s been burned and rests her hands in her lap.

“Thanks,” Helena answers, dark eyes unreadable as she presses her lips in a tense smile.

Dinah only lets the silence stretch between them for a moment before she leans forward. “Hey. I’m worried about you. You come in today with your hand all beat up, and last week Cass said you had a black eye —”

“Dinah, I’m fine.”

Dinah shakes her head. “No, see, you’re not. If you were _fine_ , you wouldn’t look like you just — you wouldn’t be injured like this.” She’s aware that a bit of frustration is creeping into her voice, and she gentles her tone. “We care about you, we can help you if you’re in trouble. But you need to tell me if you are.”

“I’m not.” Helena’s voice is firm — she’s telling the truth, for sure, and that’s an incredible relief. But it still doesn’t explain why she looks like she just got out of a bar fight.

“I believe you,” Dinah says simply after a moment has passed and Helena hasn’t broken eye contact, has held her gaze firm and steady. “But you know how this looks, right?” Dinah gestures vaguely at Helena’s hand, her face.

Helena’s brow knits momentarily, then relaxes as understanding dawns. “I — oh.” 

“Now you get why I made a fuss, right?”

Helena nods, looking abashed. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Hey, no need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re alright.” 

Dinah starts to push her chair back, but Helena clears her throat and says, “Um. It’s from boxing. The —” She holds up her hand. “I box. For fun.”

“Huh. Well, just be more careful next time, ‘kay?” Dinah gets to her feet and straightens her chair.

“Yeah.” Helena meets her eyes again, with that look on her face like she’s confused and pleased and sad all at once. “I will.”

“Good.” Dinah squeezes Helena’s shoulder as she passes; Helena tenses slightly at the touch. She doesn't stay much longer, and when she leaves, she goes quietly, a pensive look on her face.

_Boxing_. It’s not that Dinah doesn’t believe Helena, but — well, it just doesn’t seem right. Helena definitely wasn’t lying about the first part, which Dinah supposes is the important thing. She relays the news to Renee and Harley later, and Renee has the same reaction as Dinah.

“Boxing?” She shakes her head. “I dunno. Seems a little convenient.”

“Maybe she really is a spy!” Harley adds, although it comes out a bit garbled, as she’s sampling one of the cake pops Renee had made earlier.

“Get your grubby hands —” Renee swats at Harley, who cackles, grabs another cake pop, and skips away. 

Renee mutters a string of expletives under her breath, then shakes her head. “I dunno, Dinah,” she says. “You still like her?”

Dinah’s pretty much given up on trying to keep anything from Renee, so she shrugs. “Yeah, I guess I do.” 

And she does. Dinah likes the way Helena always sounds surprised when Dinah makes her laugh, likes the way she feels warm when Helena smiles at her, likes the way Helena’s brow furrows when she reads and the way Helena always sits with one leg tucked crooked under the other and the way Helena’s brown eyes catch the morning sunlight just right to turn them amber.

Yeah, Dinah’s got it bad. 

“Well, life is short.” Renee’s voice breaks into her thoughts. “Ask her out. If she really is a spy, then, _c’est la vie._ You deal with it.”

Renee says it so nonchalantly that Dinah has to laugh.

“‘You deal with it,’ huh?”

Renee shrugs. “Sure. Just like anything else. If it ain’t worth the trouble, you move on. If it is… you make it work.”

“Hell of a pep talk.” 

“Yeah, well, I’m kinda out of my depth here. I didn’t sign up for this shit, you know.”

“I know, I know. Saint Renee Montoya, right here.” 

“Keep it up, Lance,” Renee warns, but she’s obviously fighting back a smile. “And don’t you have a job to do?”

Dinah raises her hands in surrender. “You got it, boss.”

She goes back to work, but her thoughts keep straying, and slowly, Dinah starts to piece together a plan. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I initially planned to follow the structure of the first chapter (first section: Dinah POV, second section: Helena POV) for this chapter, but it got pretty long. So the next chapter will be entirely Helena's POV, and after that, we'll see how things go! This story is looking like it will be longer than I anticipated, which is never a bad thing, in my opinion. I have a pretty good idea of where it's headed, and I'm super excited to share it!
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear what you think! Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bring on the Angst
> 
> I wrote most of this while listening to "[White Mercedes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CRYYBDG1b4Y)" by Charli XCX, so for extra Emotions, give that a listen while you read this chapter.

Helena has spent most of her life pursuing revenge. Along the way, she’s killed half a dozen men without remorse and never felt a flicker of doubt.

Now, though? She feels like shit. 

She’s a fraud. A liar. Taking advantage of Dinah’s sympathy, letting Dinah look at her with soft concern and bring her coffee and fix up her battered hands. Dinah had thought that Helena was a victim, when in reality, she’s the opposite — a killer. The Huntress.

Helena supposes that it had been nice while it had lasted — to let herself drop the persona of Huntress, even if only for an hour or two every day, and just be Helena. Now, though, when she sits at her usual table and greets Dinah and the others and asks Cass about her day, the feeling of comfort, of _warmth_ , is gone. In its place is a cold, sick, creeping sense of guilt, because Helena knows that if they — if Dinah — knew the truth about her…

Well, who would want a killer frequenting their perfectly respectable establishment?

Helena manages to keep up appearances for another week. By day, she reads in the cafe, though she can barely focus on the words on the page; she talks and smiles and drinks her coffee, and all the while, a voice whispers in her ear: _Liar._

And by night, she steadily works toward her goal, rides through dark city streets and tracks down her next target and methodically cleans and sorts her weapons, laying them out in neat rows on her bed before tucking them back in her belt. And the voice whispers: _This is who you are_. 

One week, and then Helena can't handle it anymore. The last straw is this: she's standing by the counter waiting for her drink on the seventh day when Dinah comes over, cappuccino in one hand.

"Here you are," Dinah says with a smile, handing Helena the drink, then adds, "Hey, how's your hand? Let me see." And she reaches out and takes Helena's hand like it's the most natural thing in the world, eyeing it critically. Dinah traces a finger over the knuckles so gently that it makes Helena's breath catch in her throat; she hums, evidently pleased. "Looks good to me. Glad to see you're taking care of yourself, Helena."

Dinah squeezes Helena's hand lightly and then draws away. There's something in her gaze that Helena's never seen before — not with Dinah, or with anyone else for that matter, something warm and playful and sweet, and Helena finds herself missing the sensation of Dinah's hand wrapped around her own. 

Helena nods, managing a quick, quiet "Thanks," and takes a seat at her normal table. What she'd seen in Dinah's gaze — Helena _wants_ that, and her hand still tingles with the phantom sensation of Dinah's touch. 

_Glad to see you're taking care of yourself_ , Dinah had said, oblivious to the fact that she was holding the hand that just hours earlier had fired a crossbow bolt into a man's neck, a hand that's been soaked with blood — metaphorically, but often literally — for so long that Helena can't remember what it would look like clean. 

It's not fair to Dinah, Helena knows, to lead her on like this. As close as Helena is to finishing her kill list — only two names remaining, albeit the names of two of the most powerful men in Gotham — she doesn't know what the hell she's going to do when she's finished. Helena can't imagine herself without her mission, without the rage and vengeance that has fueled her for years. 

For a moment, she lets herself entertain the possibility that _this_ is who she could be — Helena, the regular at Question Cafe, who's friends with the baristas and who likes cinnamon in her lattes — and she glances at Dinah. Dinah, who's pretty and sweet and funny.

Dinah, who deserves far better than the likes of Helena, who's awkward and angry and a literal killer. 

Helena can't keep up the facade anymore, but she's too damn close to finishing her mission to risk it by revealing her identity. 

She can let Dinah down easy — tell her she's moving out of Gotham for work, that she'll miss them all, that it's sudden and unavoidable and a terrible shame, and leave it at that. She has to, because she's no spy, or actress — she never wanted to live a double life, and now she remembers why. 

Because at some point, that life must end. 

"Can I ask you something?" Dinah's voice cuts into her thoughts, and Helena jolts back to reality. Her coffee sits untouched and cold in front of her.

"Sure," she answers automatically, and her mind races as Dinah pulls out a chair and sits down. _It has to be now._ Helena will listen to what Dinah has to say, then break the news, and then —

“Are you free tonight?”

Helena’s brain grinds to a halt. 

“ ‘Cause I’m singing tonight at the Blue Cobra,” Dinah continues. “It’s just a test run, so I’m only on stage for maybe fifteen minutes, but I thought you might like to come?”

Her expression is open, inviting, and Helena opens her mouth to decline.

What actually comes out is, “Great. I mean, I’d love to. Yeah.”

“Perfect!” The smile that breaks across Dinah’s face almost makes Helena forget her frustration with herself. “I have to be onstage at eight, so you can come at 7:45, or later, if —”

“7:45,” Helena interrupts, then winces. Evidently, panic makes her rude. “I mean, um. 7:45 works.”

“It’s a date.” Dinah’s smile softens, and she adds, “Looking forward to it.”

“Me too,” Helena says faintly, and grabs for her coffee to busy her hands. She valiantly manages not to make a face when she takes a sip and remembers that it’s gone cold.

 _It’s a date_.

This definitely was not part of Helena’s plan.

After hours of careful thought, Helena thinks she can make it work. She’ll go to the club, keep up the facade, and then at the end of the night — or the next morning, if absolutely necessary — she’ll apologize, say that she’s leaving the city, thank Dinah for making her feel welcome. 

_It’s for the best_ , Helena tells herself, but the words ring hollow. 

She gets dressed — black jeans and a dark purple blouse, which is about as dressed up as Helena gets nowadays — and stands in front of the mirror.

"Hi, Dinah," she tries. "How are you?"

Too formal. Helena grimaces, then starts. "Hey." This time, she adds in one of those upwards nods that she's seen people do as a greeting. It looks cool when they do it, but on Helena, it looks like she's spasming.

"Shit," she mutters, pressing a fist against her forehead. Helena clears her throat. "Hey, Dinah. You look awesome."

Awesome? She sounds like a twelve-year-old. "You look very nice. You look… pretty? Goddamnit."

Why the hell is she even trying this hard? It's not like she's going to stick around. Shit, if Helena's lucky, maybe she'll screw it up badly enough that Dinah will end things and save Helena the trouble. 

Helena checks the time — 7:20, and she hasn't even put on any makeup. Honestly, it's a good thing that this is the first and last date that Helena will ever go on, because so far she's pretty awful at it.

Helena pulls up in front of the club at 7:48, parking her bike and tugging off her helmet. She'd assumed that she would have at least a few minutes to compose herself before meeting up with Dinah, but she was wrong — Dinah's leaned against the brick wall next to the door, and when Helena steps onto the sidewalk, Dinah pushes off from the wall and meets Helena halfway. 

"Damn." Dinah whistles, looking over the bike and shooting Helena a grin. "Didn't know you were a biker gal."

"Just a hobby," Helena says with a shrug, mostly trying not to let her gaze stray below Dinah's eyeline. Dinah's wearing a stunning black dress, a slit up to the thigh revealing fishnet stockings underneath, and gold stilettos that put her at the same height as Helena. Helena has never seen anyone so stunning.

"You look —" _don't say awesome_ — "amazing." 

_Too strong?_ Helena wonders, preparing to correct herself, but Dinah smiles warmly, casting her gaze over Helena.

"You don't look too bad yourself, beautiful." 

Before Helena can process that, Dinah takes her elbow and leads her to the entrance. "They're gonna make you show ID, alright?"

"Oh. Sure." Helena hands over her driver's license to the bouncer. It's fake, of course, but it's the best forgery that money can buy, courtesy of Sal and Luca. 

"Name?" the bouncer asks, sounding bored.

"Helena Balistreri." Helena had been quite pleased with herself when she'd decided on that for her fake identity. Helena hears Dinah let out a thoughtful "huh," and once Helena has her ID back, Dinah says, "I never actually knew your last name until now." Dinah hums again. "Helena Balistreri." She says it slowly, like she's considering how the name fits in her mouth. "Sounds Italian."

"It is. Sicilian, actually."

"Huh." They're by the bar, now. Helena's never been in a club like this; it's loud and crowded and dimly lit. The stage is spotlighted on the far side of the club, but there isn't anyone on it.

Dinah must see her looking, because she explains, "I'm up first, just as an opener. Speaking of which —" She checks the time on her phone. "I gotta go get ready. I'll be back before you know it." Dinah reaches out as if to smooth out a wrinkle on Helena's blouse near her collarbone, letting her fingers trail over the material before moving away and nodding at the bartender. "Order me something good, alright?" She winks at Helena and disappears into the crowd.

The bartender keeps shooting her expectant glances, and Helena tries to recall her (very limited) knowledge of alcohol that isn't wine. In the end, she just waits for the next person to order and asks for two of what they'd asked for. 

"Two Palomas," the bartender says as he slides them across the counter. Helena pays and takes the drinks to a corner booth with a view of the stage. From this angle, she can see Dinah in the wings, waiting to go onstage. Dinah’s eyes meet hers, and the smile that grows on Dinah’s face makes Helena’s heart stutter; she smiles back, unable and unwilling to look away for an electric moment that’s only broken when Dinah takes her cue to go onstage.

Helena looks down at the table, trying to clear her head; she takes a tentative sip of her drink and blinks at the sweet-sour-salty taste that fills her mouth — it's strange, but not unpleasant. She stirs the drink and looks up again just as Dinah opens her mouth to sing.

It’s unlike anything Helena’s ever experienced. Dinah’s voice is sweet and smoky and passionate and so utterly captivating that Helena forgets her drink entirely and just sits there, entranced. Around her, people are still carrying on conversations, and anger simmers under Helena’s skin, because _how dare they_ not give Dinah the attention she deserves, how can they be so audacious, so foolish, as to ignore the most incredible thing Helena’s ever witnessed? She wants to snap at them, to silence them — but when Helena tears her gaze away from those chattering idiots and looks up at Dinah, their eyes meet and everything else fades away, like it’s just the two of them in the room. There’s such an intimacy in that moment that it almost hurts, and Dinah smiles, languid and knowing and beautiful, as if she can see right into Helena’s thoughts.

It ends far too soon — Helena could have lost herself in the rich sound of Dinah's voice for hours, she thinks — and when Dinah steps back from the microphone to cede the stage to the next performer, Helena applauds even though she's the only one clapping and the noise is lost in the din of the club. She watches as Dinah slips through the crowd, and Dinah looks flushed and happy when she slides into the booth next to Helena rather than across the table. 

"Ooh, good choice," Dinah says when she sees the drink waiting for her, sliding it in front of her and taking a sip. 

"That was amazing," Helena blurts out before she can stop herself. "You were — just incredible, I — wow."

"You're sweet." Dinah's eyes are soft and sincere. "Thanks. I haven't been onstage in…" She blows out a breath, tilting her head thoughtfully. "Almost a year now, I guess. Forgot how much I missed it."

"I didn't know you were a singer. Was that before the cafe opened?"

"Yeah." Dinah makes a face. "I worked for a real asshole, I'll tell you. Then Renee asked me if I wanted a job, and the rest is history."

"You knew Renee?" Helena had no idea just how much she didn't know about Dinah.

Dinah nods, swirling her drink with the straw. "She worked with my mother. Cop business," she explains in response to Helena's questioning look. "Mom was an informant."

 _Was_. Between Dinah's use of past tense and the faint sadness in her eyes, Helena puts the pieces together. 

"What about you?" Dinah straightens up, curiosity written on her face. "You got any family?" 

Helena shakes her head. "Not really." Technically, she has Sal and Luca and Massimo, but it's kind of hard to explain that relationship without giving herself away.

Dinah doesn't pry, just raises her glass in a silent toast, and Helena copies her. 

"I've been wanting to do this for a while," Dinah says suddenly. Helena must appear confused, because Dinah clarifies, “You, me, drinks. And not just coffee, either.”

“Really?” Helena can’t stop herself from asking, can’t keep the surprise out of her voice. She doesn’t know why her brain doesn’t seem to be working tonight — maybe it’s the drink, or maybe it’s the way Dinah is sitting very, very close. 

But Helena’s never experienced anything like this before. There hadn’t been much opportunity to go on dates while she was training with assassins in rural Sicily — and the thought that she’s actually on a date with the most beautiful woman she’s ever met is too overpowering for Helena to think about for too long — and nobody besides Dinah had showed any interest in her once she’d moved back to Gotham, not that Helena would have noticed or cared if they had.

“Yes, really.” Dinah’s voice is gently teasing, and Helena swallows.

“But you barely know me.”

Dinah makes a considering noise, and Helena winces — it had come out abruptly, and she’s preparing to apologize when Dinah shakes her head and fixes her with a steady look.

“I know enough. I know that you’re sweet, and kind, and damn smart too. And damn gorgeous, too,” she adds, eyes sparkling. “That good enough for you?”

Helena nods quickly, momentarily speechless. She had no idea that Dinah sees her that way; it seems impossible, and yet… there hadn’t been a trace of doubt in Dinah’s words. 

_I know enough,_ Dinah had said, and the conviction in her voice had sent a flare of hope through Helena, one that lingers as she wonders — _Could this work?_

Her reflex response is an immediate _no,_ but God, that bit of hope is intoxicating.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” Helena says haltingly, not wanting to let the conversation falter. “I mean —” She clears her throat. “For the record, I really like you.”

“I really like you too,” Dinah replies quietly, leaning in a bit like she’s confiding a secret. She’s close, terrifyingly close, but Helena doesn’t want to pull away.

Dinah’s mouth quirks slightly in amusement. “You have — here.”

And then Dinah’s thumb is brushing lightly against the corner of Helena’s mouth, and Helena’s frozen in place, feeling as though her heart is pounding straight out of her chest. 

“Lipstick,” Dinah explains, but when her thumb stills, she doesn’t pull away. Their eyes are locked, and Helena’s acutely aware of Dinah’s light touch on her face and the way they both seem to be drawing closer, closer —

“Dinah Lance?”

Dinah sighs; Helena can feel the air ghosting across her face. The moment is broken, and Helena blinks as she becomes aware once more of the sights and sounds of the club. A waiter is standing next to their table, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“There’s a man asking to speak to you. A potential employer?”

“Fine.” Dinah sounds as irritated as Helena at the interruption, but when she turns back to Helena, her face softens. “Be right back,” she tells Helena in a murmur, laying her hand on Helena’s thigh, just above her knee, for a moment before standing and following the waiter.

Helena leans back and runs a hand through her hair, absently tracking Dinah as she moves through the crowd. Helena has her back to the bar, and she twists slightly in her seat to see Dinah come to a halt. A gaggle of women pass through Helena’s field of vision, and she huffs in annoyance, trying to catch sight of Dinah again as subtly as possible, because Helena feels compelled to ensure Dinah’s safety, just in case. 

All Helena can see of the ‘potential employer’ is that it’s a blond man, and then the crowd parts and the man shifts and Helena’s blood runs cold.

She’d know that face anywhere, has seen it haunt her nightmares since she was nine years old.

It’s the face of the next man on her list: Victor Zsasz. 

Her first instinct is to leap to her feet and kill him on the spot, but she’s not dressed as Huntress, and the only weapon she has is a switchblade tucked in her boot. Dinah doesn’t seem frightened, but rather annoyed, and Helena curses herself for not piecing things together sooner.

The conversation Helena had overheard weeks ago about the roses, when Dinah had asked if Victor had delivered them — she had been talking about Zsasz. _I worked for a real asshole,_ Dinah had said just minutes earlier — Roman Sionis owns a club, Helena remembers, with Zsasz as his right-hand man.

She’s willing to bet that Sionis isn’t too pleased that he’s been losing men left and right to her crossbow, and Helena drops down in her seat and turns her face away from the conversation even though her every instinct is screaming at her to _protect Dinah,_ because Helena knows exactly what Zsasz is capable of.

Her mind races — is Dinah in danger? Would Zsasz recognize Helena as the Crossbow Killer, or even just as Helena Bertinelli? If he does, and if he sees her with Dinah — 

The thought makes bile rise in her throat. _This is the price you pay,_ she thinks. She’d let herself lose sight of her mission, and she’d endangered Dinah because of it — and by extension, Renee and Harley and Cass as well. 

Helena’s fists are clenched, knuckles white, and she hides them in her lap as she sees Dinah approaching. She casts her gaze around the club, but Zsasz is nowhere in sight.

“Sorry about that,” Dinah says with a grimace. “My old boss wants me back, sent a guy to persuade me.”

“Did he threaten you?” The words are hard and urgent, and Dinah draws back a bit, like she’s surprised by the change in Helena’s demeanor.

“No, no. Jesus, nothing like that. Roman — the boss — has a soft spot for me.” Her lip curls in distaste. “And the man who I was talking to, he takes his orders from Roman. So no,” she finishes. 

Helena nods. Dinah’s safe, at least for now, but as long as Helena’s around her…

“Hey.” Dinah’s hand lands on Helena’s, stroking lightly along her knuckles. “You alright?” Her eyes are searching, but Helena can’t bring herself to meet them.

“Fine,” she manages, and forces herself to smile in a way that she hopes is rueful. “I guess the drink didn’t agree with me.”

“Alright.” Dinah sounds uncertain, but offers, “Let me get you a water.”

Dinah pulls her hand away, and Helena aches for nothing more than to hold on tight as she watches Dinah walk away.

There’s only one thing to do, now. It’s what Helena had been trying and failing to do since the beginning, since she’d realized that every conversation and smile and touch only draw her deeper into a lie, a lie that’s becoming more dangerous with every passing day. If she puts it off any longer, she’ll fail. Helena knows that now, because Dinah is her weakness, and as long as Dinah’s looking at her with those soft lovely eyes, Helena will never be able to pull away.

_Now or never._

Helena takes a pen from the apron of a passing waitress and reaches for a cocktail napkin, knowing that she doesn’t have much time.

 _I’m sorry,_ she writes, and signs it _-H_.

She allows herself one last look at Dinah, memorizing the way the dim lights of the club catch on her hair and gleam on her jewelry, and slips out the door.

The evening air is cool on Helena's face, and she walks quickly to her bike. She doesn’t hesitate or look back. 

Helena rides through the Gotham streets, and though her eyes sting and her throat aches, she tells herself, _It’s for the best._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: 'Balistreri' is a Sicilian surname meaning 'crossbow-maker' or 'crossbowman.' Helena definitely thinks it's very clever, because she's a dork like that.
> 
> Disclaimer: I know literally nothing about alcohol. A Paloma is made with grapefruit soda and tequila, and I chose to use it solely because it sounded good.
> 
> Halfway done - 3 chapters down, 3 to go! (Probably 3, anyway - no less than 2, no more than 4. We'll see!) This is shaping up to be the longest thing I've ever written, which is very unexpected but also very cool! It's been really fun so far, and I can't wait for you all to see what's coming!
> 
> Thank you all for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting - it really means the world to me! Stay safe and healthy, everyone! Let me know what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

Harley pounces on Dinah as soon as Dinah steps through the door.

“Well? How did it go? Didja kiss? Didja —”

“Fuck off, I don’t want to talk about it.” Dinah walks straight past Harley, eyes resolutely forward.

“Aw, sugar! What happened?” Harley follows her behind the counter. Renee’s at the register, and she looks up, eyebrows raised.

“How was the date?”

Dinah grits her teeth. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh, shit.” Renee straightens up. “What happened? She stand you up?”

Dinah sighs. “Ditched me,” she admits.

Harley gasps, shocked. “That little — Want me to go talk to her? Teach her a lesson?” She perks up at the prospect, eyes taking on that manic gleam that Dinah knows all too well.

Dinah shakes her head. “No. I don’t even have her number.” It’s an oversight she’s regretting now. 

“Damn.” Harley makes a face. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me!”

Once it’s just the two of them, Renee asks, “You want to talk about it?”

Dinah shakes her head. “I don’t know, it’s just — weird. It was going really well, but then — shit! I forgot to tell you — Zsasz showed up, tried to talk me into going back to the Black Mask.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told him I wasn’t interested, and he left. And after that…” Dinah tilts her head. “That’s when Helena started acting so strange. She blamed it on the drink, so I went to get her some water and by the time I got back, she was gone. Didn’t tell me or the bouncer or anyone, just left a note on a napkin. ‘I’m sorry,’ signed with her initials.”

Renee makes a face. “Dick move.”

Dinah laughs humorlessly. “Yeah.”

“And it was fine, up until then?”

“It was more than fine, it was going great.” Remembering it makes Dinah’s heart twist painfully. “I don’t know, Renee. I want to be pissed, and I am, but…”

“You’re worried.”

“Yeah.” Dinah lets out a sigh. “I am.”

“I’m sorry,” Renee says after a moment. “Feels like my fault, I pushed you into this —”

“That’s not true,” Dinah cuts her off. “You know I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t want to.”

“Still.” Renee exhales heavily. “Well, maybe she’ll show up here and explain herself.”

“Better be a hell of an explanation,” Dinah mutters, mostly to draw a smile from Renee.

“Damn right. Don’t let it bring you down, alright? Clearly she doesn't know what she’s missing.”

“Right,” Dinah says halfheartedly, and goes to don an apron and get to work.

Dinah tries to be angry, but doesn’t quite make it. Somehow, she knows deep down that Helena isn’t the kind of person who would ditch a date on a whim. And then Dinah starts thinking about what, then, could have caused Helena to bolt, and any anger she might have mustered up dissolves into concern.

It’s her own fault, Dinah decides, for falling for someone so secretive. She’d known that Helena was hiding something, and now she’s paying the price. But that isn’t fair; after all, Helena was the one keeping secrets and the one to leave, and thinking about that makes Dinah angry again, starting the cycle all over again. 

Every time the bell over the door chimes, Dinah looks up, hope flaring within her and then fading when she sees that it isn’t Helena, leaving her feeling pathetic. The sympathy in Renee’s and Harley’s expression only makes it worse, and by the time Dinah leaves that night, she’s wound so tense that she could scream.

 _Not a good idea,_ she thinks wryly, and heads for home.

Renee must tell Cass what happened, because the next day when Cass comes in after school, she heads straight for Dinah and wraps her in a hug before Dinah can even say hello.

“Sorry Helena ditched you,” Cass says, voice muffled slightly. She draws back and makes a face. “Kind of a shitty move if you ask me.”

“Language,” Dinah says automatically, and when Cass sticks her tongue out, Dinah ruffles her hair affectionately. “I agree. Thanks, kid.”

“She hasn’t been back?”

“No.” Cass’s face falls, and Dinah adds, “Not yet. You never know.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Cass shrugs, looking disappointed, and goes off to find a table. Dinah’s angrier then than she has been yet, because she can handle getting dumped, but Cass doesn’t deserve to have anyone else — even someone she hasn’t known very long — let her down. 

“Damn it, Helena,” Dinah mutters. If she ever sees Helena again, Dinah’s going to have a lot to say to her.

Renee comes up to Helena after closing, looking pensive. "You said Helena signed that note with her initials?"

"Just the H." Dinah stops wiping tables and looks up at Renee. "Why?"

Renee shrugs, but Dinah knows that look — it's Renee's Detective Look. "Curious. She ever mention her last name, by chance?"

Dinah frowns. "Something with a B. Italian."

"Bertinelli?" Renee looks triumphant, but deflates when Dinah shakes her head. 

"Close, though." She snaps her fingers. "Balistreri. That was it." 

"Helena Balistreri," Renee says slowly.

"Wait, what are you thinking? You said Bertinelli?" It clicks, suddenly. "As in —"

"You got it." Renee nods, pointing at Dinah. 

Holy shit.

"Doesn't it make sense?" Renee's pacing now, eyes alight — as much as Renee loves running the cafe, Dinah knows that she'll always have a soft spot for detective work. "The bruises, the — the secrecy? I knew it." She whirls around to face Dinah, grinning widely. "I knew it!"

"Then why the hell didn't you say something, Renee? You let me go on a date with a Mafia princess!" Not that Dinah had ever felt in danger, but still — it's the principle of the thing.

"Well, I didn't know for sure," Renee huffs. "And I didn't want to make any unfounded accusations." 

"You were a fucking cop, that's like your whole job."

"I was a _good_ cop. Innocent until proven guilty and all that shit. Look." Renee sighs. "I'm sorry, I just didn't want to fuck things up for you, Dinah."

"Yeah, I get it. Not like it did any good in the end." Renee winces in sympathy, and Dinah adds, "Alright, so what’s it matter now?”

“Well, that’s probably why she left! Think about it. The Bertinellis were the most powerful family in Gotham, and now, you know who took their place? Roman Sionis.” Renee nods decisively. “Think Helena would want a run-in with Sionis’s right-hand man?”

It makes sense, except — “But Zsasz left. He didn’t see her, and she left after he did.”

“Well —” Renee stops. “Shit. I dunno. But it adds up, the rest of it, doesn’t it?”

The thrill of figuring it out is fading, leaving Dinah feeling worn out. “Doesn’t change a damn thing, though. I couldn’t get a hold of her if I tried.”

“Tell you what, she better watch her back.” Her face is grim. “Word is, Sionis has a new assassin. The Crossbow Killer, that’s what they’re calling him.”

As if Dinah wasn’t worried enough already, now there’s the chance that Helena has a literal fucking _assassin_ after her. _What the hell have I gotten myself into?_ she wonders ruefully. Dinah had thought that she’d left all the weird shit behind her when she quit working for Sionis, but evidently she was wrong.

Even so, Dinah still looks up hopefully every time the door swings open. She’s always been an optimist, after all.

\---

The next few days, Helena throws herself into her work. From the minute she wakes until she falls asleep, she’s moving, thinking, planning — anything to keep her mind from straying to that night at the club. Helena learns that lesson early, after she spends the first night tossing and turning, torn between guilt and anger at herself and the lingering memory of Dinah’s touch, her voice, her smile. Helena may not know much about dating (or any socialization, really), but she does know that it was callous of her, leaving without a word beyond a scribbled note on a napkin. Her chest aches when she imagines Dinah’s reaction, wondering if she was hurt or angry or both and hating herself for causing Dinah any sort of pain, even though Helena tells herself that it was necessary.

She can’t afford to be distracted, and so Helena pushes all that emotion deep, deep down and focuses on the mission. 

It turns out that the Black Mask Club is harder to find than she’d expected, and once she does find it, she discovers that Victor Zsasz will be a very difficult man to kill.

He rarely leaves the safety of the club, so a drive-by attack isn’t a viable option, and security is too heavy inside the club for that to be an option. 

After spending more time inside the Black Mask than she’d ever wanted to, Helena pins down her window of opportunity. Between seven and eight in the evening every night, right before the club opens, Zsasz steps out into the alley for a smoke. It’s not a great plan — in fact, it’s fairly terrible, with plenty of room for error — but it’s all Helena’s got.

She decides to go through with it that Friday. It’s raining, a gentle drizzle that makes her shiver. Helena parks her bike three blocks away — she might have to wait for Zsasz for an hour or more, and the bike would draw too much attention for her to keep it with her, as much as she hates to leave it unattended. 

And so Helena tucks herself into a dark corner of the alley, with a clear view of the entrance to the club, and waits, crossbow at the ready.

For almost two goddamn hours. 

Nothing.

Finally, Helena gives up. She hooks her crossbow back in its holster on her belt and brushes her hair out of her eyes.

 _What a goddamn waste of time,_ she thinks, and then something heavy and solid collides with her skull. 

Her vision whites out with pain, but miraculously, Helena doesn't lose consciousness — not that it makes much of a difference, the way her ears ring and vision blurs. She hits the ground, the impact of the asphalt jarring every bone in her body, and before she can struggle to stand, the assailant crouches beside her, rolling her onto her back, and then reaches across her to pin her down.

"Looking for me?" Victor Zsasz asks, the same maniacal gleam in his eyes that Helena remembers from fifteen years ago. There's a blade in his hand, she realizes, shining sharp and deadly in the dim glow of the streetlight. He uses it to draw her hood back from her face, then runs the tip of the knife along her jawline, just close enough to sting, as he whistles softly.

"My, my. If it isn't little Helena Bertinelli, all grown up. The Crossbow Killer."

Helena clenches her jaw. The world is spinning lazy circles around her still, but there's a loaded pistol on her belt that she can reach if she can distract him. 

"So very pretty, too. Just like your lovely mother." He smirks, ugly and mocking, and Helena's blood boils.

"Fuck you," she spits, and he slaps her across the face hard enough that Helena can feel her lip split on impact. 

"Boss doesn't like foul-mouthed birdies," he breathes, his face looming over hers, and Helena takes her chance. She throws her head forward, slamming into his face. She can hear his nose break, and she smiles, her lip splitting wider. Her fingertips brush the handle of the pistol.

"You _bitch."_ There's blood spilling over his mouth, and he's breathing hard. The knife flashes across her vision as Zsasz raises it, snarling — 

but his hold on her arm has loosened, and her fingers wrap around the handle of the pistol. Helena twists as the knife falls; it slices along the side of her ribcage rather than digging into her chest. She grits her teeth through the sudden searing pain, aims upward, and squeezes the trigger once, twice, three times. 

Zsasz falls back, the knife clattering to the pavement, and Helena tucks the gun away, her hand flying to the wound. It’s less than an inch deep, but it’s a couple inches long, and blood is already soaking through her clothing.

She doesn’t have any time to waste — the gunshots will have the police there in minutes. Helena hauls herself to her feet, catching herself against the wall when the world tilts ominously and stumbling down the alley. Her head feels like it’s about to explode, and her side is aflame.

She’s made it to the end of the alley when the door to the club slams open, revealing none other than Roman Sionis himself, velvet jacket and all.

It’s unfortunate, she supposes, that she doesn’t have the time to introduce herself properly, but Helena knows she won’t get another opportunity like this.

“Mr. Zsasz?” Sionis calls. “Where —”

The arrow now buried in his neck cuts him off with a faint gurgle, and Helena smiles. She can barely see straight, her head is pounding an agonized rhythm, and her side is sticky with blood — but it was a perfect shot. She puts another in his chest, just for good measure, and then she’s running again.

The streetlights are too bright, and they blur and double in her vision as the adrenaline ebbs away. Her foot catches on an uneven patch of pavement, and she goes sprawling, palms stinging with the impact, but Helena forces herself to get up and keep moving. 

She’s never ridden her bike while concussed, and Helena discovers quickly that it’s a hellish experience. Her balance is completely shot, for one, and she’s lucky that the streets are relatively empty of traffic; her strength is ebbing quickly, leaving her dizzy, and the gash on her side throbs in time to her heartbeat. 

Any excitement Helena might have felt at the realization that she’s completed the mission she’s spent most of her life training for is overruled by the realization that she’ll never make it to the motel; it’s across town, too far, she’s certain, for her to get there safely. There’s a creeping fatigue settling over her, making her eyelids heavy, and that more than anything frightens her. Helena’s no doctor, but she knows that head injuries can turn ugly fast; she needs to go somewhere safe.

Deep down, Helena wonders if it’s worth it — the vengeance that’s driven her for years is now sated, leaving her with no purpose or place in life. But then she remembers Dinah singing in the club, smiling from across the room like it was just the two of them, and even though Helena’s thoughts are fuzzy, she knows with clarity that she’d fight through anything for the chance at that again.

There's only one place in Gotham that Helena considers safe, the one place Helena had vowed never to set foot in again. Helena revs the engine, grits her teeth through the pain of her head and side, and sends up a silent prayer that she’ll make it — and that the door will still be open to her.

\---

It's been a long day.

Fridays are always the longest at the cafe, especially now that Renee had recently decided to extend Friday hours until eight o'clock in the evening. Dinah privately wonders why the hell Renee thought that would be a good idea — it's the weekend, after all, and anyone who's going out on a Friday night is going to a bar, not a cafe — but they've been getting more customers than Dinah had expected at that time of night, so she doesn't say anything. 

Then after closing, they have to prep for the weekend rush, and Renee has to figure out payroll on top of that. 

Suffice it to say that it's nearly nine and Dinah's damn tired. She's just finished mopping the floor, and she's restocking the front when the door opens with a cheery jingle.

"Sorry, we're closed," Dinah says automatically, resigning herself to the likelihood that she'll have to pull out the mop again, because this jagoff is surely tracking mud all over her clean floor.

"Sorry." The voice is soft and raspy and familiar, and Dinah looks up — 

"Helena?" 

Any anger that she might have been feeling evaporates in an instant as Dinah takes in Helena’s appearance. Helena’s face is a sickly, pale gray, and she’s leaning against the wall like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

“Sorry,” she says again, and her eyes finally meet Dinah’s, and that jolts Dinah into action. She crosses the room swiftly, catching Helena by her shoulders just as her knees start to buckle and helping her to the floor. Helena’s eyes flutter shut, and a quiet sigh escapes her lips. 

“Hey.” Dinah squeezes her shoulder. “You gotta talk to me, Helena. Where are you hurt?” She remembers Renee saying _she better watch her back_ , and her heart twists in fear.

“Head,” Helena answers, eyes still closed. 

“Your head hurts? Okay, lemme see.” Dinah runs a hand carefully over Helena’s head, feeling for a bump and sucking in a breath when she finds a nasty knot. She’s way out of her depth, and then Dinah remembers that Renee’s in the back office, oblivious to the scene unfolding out front.

“I’m going to get Renee, alright?” She starts to stand, but Helena’s hand wraps around her wrist.

“No, wait.” Helena swallows. “Is Cass —?”

“With Harley.” It’s their monthly girls’ night, when Harley takes Cass to watch her roller derby match and get ice cream after. “She’s not here.”

This evidently satisfies Helena, because she nods a tiny bit and releases her grip. Dinah stands, keeping Helena in her peripheral vision to make sure she’s not going to try and leave, and heads through to the back where Renee’s hunched over a pile of paperwork in the office.

“I’m almost finished, you can go,” Renee says absently.

“I need you out front,” Dinah tells her, and one look is all it takes; Renee’s on her feet in an instant, following Dinah.

“What the hell’s going on? You’re scaring me, Dinah.” Then they’re through the door, and Renee stops short. “Jesus Christ.”

Helena opens her eyes long enough to say, “Hi, Renee,” then closes them again and drops her head back against the wall, wincing.

“Okay, no. You’re not dying in my cafe.” Renee falls into cop-mode effortlessly, crossing the room and bending over Helena. “Look at me, Sleeping Beauty. Follow my finger.” 

Dinah watches as Renee moves one finger slowly across Helena’s field of vision, then drops her hand and exhales. “Shit. You feel dizzy at all? Head hurting? Double vision?” At Helena’s tiny nod, Renee clicks her tongue. “Concussion, then. Did you see who did this? Dinah, call 911—”

“No, don’t,” Helena interrupts. “It’s fine.”

“It’s _fine?”_ Renee gawks at her. “You keel over in my cafe, and — is that blood? You’re bleeding, too?”

Before Helena can protest, Renee yanks her coat aside, revealing a long cut on Helena’s side — and a crossbow hooked to her belt.

“Holy fuck.” Renee jumps back, hand straying automatically to her hip even though she hasn’t worn a sidearm for over a year, and Dinah tenses too. “You’re the Crossbow Killer. _Helena Bertinelli_ is the Crossbow Killer.”

“That’s _not_ my name.”

“We figured it out,” Dinah breaks in as gently as possible. “Your real name, I mean.”

“As if fuckin’ ‘ _Helena Balistreri’_ wasn’t obvious enough,” Renee mutters.

Helena grits her teeth. “Not that. _Shit._ I’m not the fucking _Crossbow Killer._ They call me —” She pauses dramatically, drawing herself up as much as she can. _“Huntress.”_

“Who does?” Renee asks doubtfully.

“For fuck’s sake.” Helena looks murderous, and Dinah decides to step in before things come to blows.

“Alright,” she interrupts. “We need to get you fixed up.”

“Uh-uh.” Renee’s staring Helena down. “She’s working for him, Dinah. This is probably some scheme to win you back — don’t trust her.”

“Working for _who?”_ Helena frowns.

“Roman Sionis,” Renee says accusingly.

“You think I’m working for _Sionis?”_ Helena actually laughs. “I just killed that asshole!”

“You _killed_ him?” Dinah glances at Renee, who looks just as shocked as Dinah feels.

A tiny, remorseless smile plays across Helena’s face. “I killed Roman Sionis. I killed Victor Zsasz and Stefano Galante and his firing squad.” She swallows, looking dazed. “And now I’m done. They killed my family, so I killed them.”

Renee blows out a breath. “Normally I’d object to harboring a wanted criminal, but what the hell. Those guys had it coming.” She narrows her eyes at Helena. “If we’re going to help you, you need to tell me if anyone’s after you.”

“No.” Helena doesn’t hesitate.

“Nobody saw you?”

“I’m not an amateur,” Helena answers, sounding affronted. “Of course not.”

“We’re risking a lot, you know,” Renee tells her. “To the tune of ‘aiding and abetting.’ I’m not about to end up in jail for you, I don’t give a shit what you two—” she looks between Helena and Dinah — “have going on. Understand?”

Helena nods, looking guilty, and Renee nods back, then turns to Dinah. “Upstairs. Put her on the couch. I’ll finish down here and be up in a few. Get an ice pack for the head, clean up the cut. Might need stitches, but you can take care of that — first aid kit’s under the kitchen sink.”

“You sure about this, Renee?” Dinah’s not about to turn Helena away, but Renee has a hell of a lot more to lose if this goes sideways.

Renee waves a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Go, before someone figures out that we’re harboring a fucking assassin. Christ.” She shakes her head and disappears into the back with one last glance over her shoulder. 

“Can you stand?” Dinah asks. “Here.” She helps Helena to her feet, bracing her with an arm wrapped around her back when Helena sways a bit. They make their way to the stairway on the far side of the kitchen; Helena seems a bit stronger than she’d been when she’d arrived, but still leans on Dinah, moving slowly.

Renee and Cass live above the cafe in a small but cozy two-bedroom apartment. Once they’re through the door, after a clumsy journey up the narrow staircase, Dinah finds the first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas and turns around. Helena’s perched tentatively on the couch, looking like she wants nothing more than to give in to her fatigue and sink into the cushions but remaining resolutely upright. She’s still wearing her long coat, and a smile tugs at Dinah’s face — maybe it makes Helena look badass when she’s running around the city killing people, but right now, it spreads awkwardly across the cushions and makes her look like a sad vampire, or maybe a knockoff Batman. 

Maybe Dinah should feel a little more disturbed by the revelation of Helena’s extralegal activities, or maybe it hasn’t fully sunk in yet. Either way, she can’t deny the hint of fondness that the sight sparks in her, and Dinah schools her expression into brisk neutrality as she crosses the room and sets the supplies on the coffee table.

“Give me your coat,” Dinah says, and Helena starts to twist as if to shrug it off but stops abruptly, grimacing. 

Shit. Dinah had forgotten about the cut on Helena’s side. “Here,” she says more gently, easing the coat off Helena’s shoulders and draping it over the back of the couch. She picks up the bag of peas and holds it out; Helena stares at it, evidently confused. 

“For your head,” Dinah explains, and Helena’s mouth forms a silent _o_ of comprehension; she takes it and positions it carefully against the knot on her head. Satisfied, Dinah turns her attention to the gash along Helena’s side, sucking air through her teeth as she takes a closer look. The bleeding has slowed, and Helena’s side is covered in blood that's beginning to dry. Even so, it looks brutally painful, clearly inflicted by a deadly-sharp blade.

Dinah stands and moves to the sink, wetting a washcloth, before returning to Helena’s side. The sight of the wound makes anger simmer in her blood, putting steel in her voice as she asks quietly, “Who did this to you?”

Helena winces as Dinah starts to clean the wound. “Zsasz.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dinah mutters. She’d never trusted him; every instinct had told her that he was to be avoided at all costs, and now she knows why.

“Yeah,” Helena agrees bluntly. Her free hand is locked in a fist at her side, knuckles starkly white.

“That’s why you left, isn’t it?” Dinah feels a bit guilty for being so direct, but presses on. “At the club, I mean. You saw me talking to him?”

“Yes.” Helena’s voice is little louder than a whisper. “I didn’t want you in danger, I thought — I thought, if he saw me with you…” She swallows. “I couldn’t risk it. I’m sorry that I left you there.”

“But you’re here now.”

Helena’s entire body tenses, and there’s desperation in her eyes when she looks at Dinah. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have — I wasn’t thinking. I can go.” She moves as if to stand, but Dinah presses a hand against Helena’s leg, stopping her.

“No — shit, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m glad you’re alright.” As she says it, Dinah realizes how deeply she means it, and she adds, “And I’m glad you came back.”

Helena’s dark eyes search hers, but she must see Dinah’s sincerity, because she nods and opens her mouth as if to speak, but decides against it and settles back into the cushions, eyes fluttering closed.

Dinah knows that Helena must be exhausted, but she can’t remember if it’s bad to let a concussed person sleep, and either way she needs to move on to stitches. “Hey,” Dinah says softly, tapping a finger on Helena’s hand. “Stay awake a little longer, alright? I have to stitch you up. Can you turn a little bit?”

“Alright.” Helena shifts slowly, giving Dinah a better view of her side.

“Good.” Dinah pulls on the latex gloves she’d found in the kit and readies the needle. “Ready?”

Helena nods. 

Dinah had forgotten how much she hates giving stitches, but the tiny noise of pain Helena makes when Dinah draws the needle through for the first time brings it all back. “Sorry,” Dinah murmurs uselessly. When she used to stitch up her mother, Dinah would distract her, talking about whatever nonsense came to mind. It’s worth a shot, Dinah supposes, and as she pulls the stitch tight, she asks, “What’s your favorite color?”

“My—” Helena winces, but seems to quickly realize what Dinah’s doing. “Blue.”

“What kind of blue? Light, dark?” She ties off the second stitch and looks up to see Helena watching her with that familiar mix of awe and curiosity.

Helena looks down, eyebrows furrowing. “Blue like the ocean.”

“Pretty.” 

“What’s yours?”

“Mine? Yellow. It’s cheerful, you know?”

“What kind of yellow?” Helena parrots Dinah’s words back at her, and Dinah smiles at that.

“Daffodil yellow.” She ties off the third stitch. “Favorite book?”

“I don’t know.” Helena frowns. “When I was younger, I liked the Narnia books.”

Damn, that takes Dinah back. “My mom used to read me those.”

They continue in this way as Dinah ties stitch after stitch; she learns that Helena had once wanted to be a teacher, that she’d had a younger brother — Dinah doesn’t press any further when she sees the flicker of pain in Helena’s eyes when she mentions him, a pain unrelated to the pinch of the needle and thread; she learns that that Helena’s favorite season is springtime and that she’s sorely lacking in knowledge of pop culture and that her favorite food is the blueberry-lemon muffins they sell at the cafe.

“There,” Dinah finally says. She’s pleased with her handiwork — the stitches are neat and even, and they stand out against Helena’s pale skin. Dinah dabs away a few droplets of blood and covers the wound with a bandage, smoothing it out carefully. 

Helena sits up slowly, twisting a bit to check her side; when she looks up again, her dark eyes are earnest. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Dinah stands and busies herself with packing up the first aid kit and stowing it back under the sink. “How’s your head?” she asks, sitting back down next to Helena.

“Alright,” Helena allows, then upon seeing the doubtful look Dinah sends her, amends, “It hurts, but not as bad.”

The bag of peas is half-defrosted by now, so Dinah takes it from Helena and sets it on the coffee table. “I’ll get you some Tylenol and a glass of water. Just rest, alright?”

Dinah’s rummaging through the medicine cabinet when the door opens and Renee enters.

“You better not have bled on my couch,” she tells Helena, then turns to Dinah once Dinah emerges from the bathroom, Tylenol in hand. “Cass wanted to stay over at Harley’s, so I said yes. Figured it was easier than having to explain all this tonight. Harley’s opening tomorrow, she’ll bring Cass by then and I’ll give ‘em the rundown.”

Dinah exhales, a bit of tension loosening in her. Dinah hadn’t even thought about how to tell Harley and Cass about the night’s developments, but she sure as hell isn’t up for it this late.

“How you feelin’, kid?” Renee asks Helena as Dinah hands Helena a glass of water and two Tylenol.

Helena startles, like the endearment surprises her, and sits up straight. “Better. Um, thank you. I can go, I’m sorry —”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Renee interrupts in a tone that brooks no argument. “You’re staying here so we can keep an eye on you. Dinah, you okay with that?”

“Fine by me.”

“Good.” Renee nods, satisfied. “One of you can take the couch, one can take Cass’s bed, she won’t care. Helena, there’s extra toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet and washcloths in the closet. Don’t get your stitches wet. There’s a clean robe on the back of the door, you can sleep in that.”

Helena’s eyes are wide as she takes in the barrage of information, and when Renee’s finished, Helena blinks and says, “Thank you. Really, I — Thanks.”

Renee just nods and waits for the bathroom door to close behind Helena before turning back to Dinah. “It's almost ten now, so set an alarm for eleven and midnight, wake her up, make sure the headache isn’t worse and nothing else is off. Slurred speech, numbness, any shit like that, she’d need the hospital. Got it?”

“Got it,” Dinah confirms.

All the energy seems to leave Renee at once, and she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Jesus, what a fuckin’ day. I’m going to bed, and I suggest you do the same.”

“Renee…” Dinah trails off, unsure how to put the depth of gratitude she’s feeling into words, and settles on an inadequate, “Thank you.”

Renee eyes her for a moment, then wordlessly pulls her in for a hug. When she draws away, she lifts a threatening finger. “If she fucks this up again, I’ll kick her ass, and you can tell her I said so.”

Dinah rolls her eyes. “Good night, Renee.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sweet dreams.”

Helena steps out of the bathroom not long after Renee shuts her bedroom door behind her, clad in a fuzzy purple robe that barely reaches her knees. Her hair is mussed, and there’s a bit of dark eyeshadow lingering at the corners of her eyes.

“Bed or couch?” Dinah asks, mostly to keep herself from looking too long at Helena’s bare legs.

“Couch,” Helena answers quickly. She hesitates, then crosses over to sink onto the couch. She doesn’t lie down; in fact, she looks as if she’s planning to sleep sitting upright, and Dinah chuckles, shaking her head.

“Lie down, alright? I’ll grab you a blanket.” 

She finds one in Cass’s room, a fleece one with Tweety Bird on it. When Dinah emerges, Helena’s curled on her side, already half-asleep. The sight fills Dinah with warmth, and she drapes the blanket over Helena, who blinks her eyes open and looks at Dinah with sleepy trust.

“I’ll check on you in an hour. If you need me, I’ll be right here, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” Helena answers, and her eyes slide shut again.

Dinah doesn't see much point in going to bed when she'll have to wake up in an hour anyway, so she just dozes off in the armchair catty-corner to the couch. In the end, she stays there all night, even after checking up on a slightly-groggy Helena twice. Dinah half-expects to find the couch empty in the morning, but she wakes up at dawn with sunlight glaring into her eyes and a horrid crick in her neck to see Helena still fast asleep a few feet away.

And for the first time all week, Dinah thinks that they'll be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's looking like I'll be able to wrap this up with one more chapter. I also have a really specific backstory for how Harley came to work at the cafe, and if I can't tie it in naturally, I'll either include it in the author's notes or post it as a one-shot. 
> 
> This has been so much fun to write! It went in a slightly different direction than I had expected when I started writing (more on that in the notes next chapter), and I'd love to hear what you all think — comments and kudos are the best! Hope you all are staying healthy and safe in every way during these trying times.


	5. Chapter 5

When Helena wakes, the first thing she registers is the glare of sunlight on her closed eyelids. The second is the faint pounding of a headache behind her temples — unpleasant, but much better than it had been last night — and the third is the faint sound of crunching.

She opens her eyes to see Cass standing over her, holding a bowl of cereal. 

“Dude, you slept, like, forever,” Cass informs her, then takes a bite of cereal. “Are you gonna puke? Renee said it’s bad if you puke or if you, like, can’t talk right.”

“I’m fine.” Helena cautiously eases herself upward; the ache in her head spikes briefly, then subsides, and Helena exhales in relief. 

“Can I see where you got stabbed?” It comes out slightly garbled through a mouthful of cereal. 

“Maybe later.” 

“Okay. You want cereal? We have…” Cass goes into the kitchen and calls from the pantry, “Lucky Charms, Fruity Pebbles, and Cheerios.”

As soon as Cass mentions food, Helena remembers that she hasn’t eaten anything in ages — she’s absolutely starving. “Cheerios, please. Can I use your bathroom?”

Cass opens the Cheerios and dumps what looks like half the box into a large bowl. “Sure, go ahead.”

Standing seems like a monumental task, but Helena gets to her feet stiffly and cracks her neck. Her entire body is sore; she feels like she was hit by a truck. She looks like it, too — Helena examines herself in the bathroom mirror as she washes her hands. Her hair is greasy and sticks up oddly, but despite the circles under her eyes, there’s at least a bit of color in her cheeks. She runs a hand through her hair in a mostly-fruitless effort to smooth it down and opens the door.

The TV is on, and Cass is sitting cross-legged on the couch, a bowl of cereal in her lap that looks dangerously close to spilling.

“There’s your Cheerios,” Cass tells her when she sits down. “And the milk’s there, too.”

“Thanks.” Helena pours milk into the bowl, careful not to spill, and takes a bite. They sit in companionable silence for a moment, bringing to mind the afternoons Cass would sit across from Helena in the cafe and work on (or complain about) homework. 

When the cartoon — it’s the one with the cat and mouse; Helena remembers watching it with Pino but can’t remember its name — cuts to commercial, Cass turns the volume down and faces Helena. “So you’re the Crossbow Killer?”

“That’s not —” Helena gives up. “Yes. Although I prefer Huntress.”

“Huntress does sound pretty badass,” Cass concedes thoughtfully. 

Helena grins, triumphant. _Finally_.

“But like, you kill people and shit?” Cass’s eyes are wide.

“I did. I’m done now, I think.” Saying it out loud is like a weight lifting off her chest.

“Huh.” Cass thoughtfully chews another spoonful of cereal — not Cheerios. Something brightly-colored that turns the milk an alarming shade of pink. Helena has never fully understood American food. “Only bad guys, right?”

“Right.” Ironically enough, Helena thinks that her moral code, vengeance and all, is more defined than her parents’ had been and than hers would be if she had grown up to become the head of the Bertinelli crime family — though she’ll never know for sure.

Cass nods. “Well, that’s good. An assassin’s kinda like a spy, right? ‘Cause when I first met you, I thought you were a spy.”

Helena laughs out loud. “Really?”

“I mean, it made sense. You acted so weird and everything.”

“Gee, thanks,” Helena remarks dryly.

Cass looks at her, unimpressed. “It’s true. I like you anyway, though. I mean, I’m still kinda pissed at you, ‘cause leaving like that was a dick move.”

Helena isn’t entirely sure what that phrase means, but she understands nonetheless. “You’re right, it was.”

“I’m glad you’re okay, though,” Cass continues. “So’s Dinah, obviously. And Renee and Harley, even though they’re gonna kick your ass if you screw up again.”

Helena wants to promise _I won’t,_ but she doesn’t trust herself enough to have that kind of confidence, so she settles for, “That’s fair.” She hesitates, then adds, “I like you too, you know. You’re pretty cool, Cass.”

Cass grins at her, mouth stained from the cereal, and Helena finds herself smiling back.

\---

“Just try it. It’s good!”

“I think this is actually ninety-nine percent sugar.”

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic.”

Dinah pauses outside the door, Cass’s and Helena’s voices drifting from inside the apartment, before turning the knob. Two heads immediately turn toward her in almost cartoonish unison.

“Hey, Dinah! Helena’s gonna try Fruity Pebbles.”

“Oh yeah?” Dinah looks at Helena, who’s holding a spoon heaping with Fruity Pebbles and eyeing it warily. Dinah raises her eyebrows, and Helena sighs and sticks the spoon in her mouth. She instantly pulls a face.

“That’s fu— that’s disgusting,” she mumbles. “You like this? It’s like eating dyed sugar.”

“Um, it’s delicious. Want some, Dinah?”

“No thanks. I’m with Helena on this one.” Dinah perches on the arm of the couch next to Helena and asks, “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Thanks.” Helena nods and smiles a little bit. She does look better — there’s more color in her cheeks, and the pinched tension around her eyes is gone. 

She’s still wearing the purple robe, and she looks so comically out-of-place in it that Dinah almost regrets offering, “Here, I brought you some clothes. They should fit alright.”

“Oh!” Helena glances down as if she’d just remembered what she’s wearing and blushes a bit. “Thanks. I’ll just —” She accepts the clothes and goes into the bathroom to change.

Dinah slides down to sit beside Cass, pulling her into a one-armed hug and ruffling her hair. “How was girls’ night?”

“Good! Harley did my nails, look.” Cass holds out her hand; each nail is painted a different neon-bright color and encrusted with sparkles.

“Impressive.”

“Yup. And we got ice cream and watched Disney movies, but I fell asleep.” Cass stirs the dregs of her cereal and tips the bowl back, slurping at the milk.

God, Dinah loves this kid. “Did Harley’s team win?”

“Duh.” Cass grins. “She was, like, _so_ kickass. I think she broke someone’s nose. It was dope.”

“Sounds like it.” Dinah leans back, stifling a yawn. After waking up early, she’d gone back to her apartment to shower and change, grabbing clothes for Helena as an afterthought before heading back to the cafe to help with the opening rush. She can’t really remember what she’d brought for Helena, but then the bathroom door opens to reveal Helena wearing an old t-shirt and sweatpants that end above her ankles. 

The sight of Helena in Dinah’s clothes makes Dinah’s heart skip a beat, but Dinah covers it by whistling playfully. “C’mon, give us a twirl.”

Helena rolls her eyes but obligingly shuffles in an awkward spin. Dinah claps, nudging Cass to join in, and hauls herself to her feet. “Need a lift home?”

“My bike’s in the alley,” Helena says, but she sounds a bit reluctant.

“I don’t want you driving if you’re not feeling up to it.” Dinah sees Helena hesitate and thinks, _Gotcha._ “You can get your bike when you’re better, alright? We’ll keep an eye on it for you. Besides,” she adds, “it’s a gorgeous day, I wouldn’t mind going for a drive.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.” Helena picks up her clothes from the day before from where she’d placed them on one arm of the couch and waves at Cass. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“See ya. Bye, Dinah.”

“Bye, kid. Renee’s downstairs if you need anything, and I’ll be back soon.” 

“Where to?” Dinah asks once Helena’s buckled in.

“Oh, um, 42nd and 10th.” Helena hesitates, then adds, “The motel there.”

Dinah pauses, key halfway to the ignition. “You’ve been living in a motel? Damn.” Helena’s been coming to the cafe for about a month now, and the thought of her spending so long living out of a drab motel room is frankly depressing. 

Helena shrugs, looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t know how long I’d be in Gotham. Not much point in getting an apartment.”

Dinah keeps her eyes forward, focused on the road as she turns onto the city street. “And what about now?”

Helena huffs a brief laugh. “I don’t know.” She tips her head back against the headrest, watching the buildings pass. “I’ve spent so long with one goal in mind, and now…” She shrugs. “Guess I never thought about what would come after, if I even got there.”

Dinah hums in acknowledgment, not sure what to say. She’s been there — adrift, lost, purposeless. When her mother had died, Dinah hadn’t known where to go, what to do. That’s how she’d ended up at the Black Mask. At the time, it had seemed better than nothing; at least it had gotten her a decent apartment and enough money to get by.

But that’s behind her now. And thanks to Renee, and now Helena, Dinah will never have to see Roman ever again. 

Dinah glances over at Helena; her eyes are closed, her face tilted back as if to soak in as much sun as possible. Dinah hadn’t been exaggerating when she had said that it’s a gorgeous day — the sky is a clear, cloudless blue, and there’s enough of a breeze to temper the sun’s warmth. It’s her favorite kind of weather, the kind that seems rare in Gotham, and she drives with one arm draped on the top of the car door, fingers drumming to the beat of the music playing faintly on the radio. 

It’s not a terribly far drive, especially since traffic is light, and Dinah pulls up in front of the motel and puts the car in park. She turns to Helena before she can lose her nerve. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Helena nods, clearly bracing herself for the worst, and Dinah shuts off the engine and takes a deep breath. “Are you going to leave again?”

Helena flinches, her eyes skittering away. “I —” She swallows and says quietly, “I don’t know.”

“Right.” Dinah pushes down the bitterness that rises within her. “You know, I’m glad you came back. I’m glad you trusted us to help you. But I can’t get my hopes up for nothing, alright? I’ve been down that road before, and I’m not about to do that again.” She pauses, then finishes, “If you gotta leave, I get that. I really do. I just need to know.”

Helena drops her gaze, brow furrowed, then exhales and looks back up. Her eyes are dark and intense as she says firmly, “I’m not leaving. I want this, but…”

“But what?” Dinah’s torn, half-hopeful and half-afraid of what’s coming next. _Please_ , she thinks. _I want this to work_.

Helena swallows, looking self-conscious. “I’ve just never done this before. With anyone.”

 _Oh._ Dinah hadn’t expected that, but even so, she’s filled with relief that that’s Helena’s only reservation. “Hey,” she says reassuringly, reaching across the gearshift to take Helena’s hand and give it a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll take it slow, alright?”

Helena’s breath hitches, and she nods quickly. “Yeah, that’s — sounds great. Cool.” She winces, and Dinah laughs softly.

Dinah lets go of Helena’s hand and leans closer, drawing her thumb lightly over the corner of Helena’s mouth. “Lipstick,” she explains, voice low.

“But I’m not wearing — Oh.”

Helena’s eyes flutter shut, and she leans in as Dinah kisses her softly, lacing her fingers through Helena’s and holding tight. It’s even better than Dinah had imagined, sending a frisson of warmth through her and making her skin tingle with electric anticipation.

“Okay?” Dinah murmurs as she draws away, reaching up and tucking Helena’s hair behind her ear.

Helena smiles, dazed and beautiful, and that’s enough of an answer for Dinah. 

Before she can lean in again, though, Helena’s grip tightens on hers. “Dinah.”

Her tone is serious, and Dinah pulls back and tilts her head questioningly.

“I’m sorry. For leaving, and for lying. I want you to know,” and her words are careful and firm, “that I won’t do it again.”

She’s so goddamned earnest that Dinah’s tempted to pull her in and kiss the frown off her face, but instead she simply says, “I believe you.”

The relief that breaks across Helena’s face is like the dawn, and Dinah thinks, _No more secrets_.

Renee knows. Harley, Dinah’s never actually told — but Harley’s far more intelligent than most people give her credit for, no matter how insane she acts, and so Dinah thinks that Harley’s guessed too. 

Dinah knows that she needs to tell Helena, but what’s more is that she _wants_ to tell her. She wants to let Helena in — it’s a strange feeling, terrifying and exhilarating and joyful. She’s been closed off from the world for long enough, she thinks, and that realization gives her the courage to speak.

“There’s something I think you should know.”

\---

Of all the things Dinah could have told her, ‘I have a superpower that I inherited from my mother’ is the last thing Helena had expected. Helena thinks she takes it pretty well, though; watching her family die at the tender age of nine and subsequently training for fifteen years in remote Sicily made it possible for Helena to adapt quickly to pretty much anything, including a revelation such as this.

So when Dinah finishes and looks at her to gauge her reaction, Helena simply says, “Huh. That’s pretty neat.”

Dinah raises her eyebrows. “You don’t seem freaked out, like, at all.”

Helena shrugs. It’s Gotham, after all; she’s only spent a month here as an adult, but it’s been long enough for her to realize that people with abilities who run around in spandex for fun are a dime a dozen. And that makes Helena curious — “Do you do the whole…” She gestures vaguely. “Superhero thing?”

Dinah’s expression twists bitterly, and Helena starts to apologize — she hadn’t realized that it would be a sore subject. Dinah waves away her concern, though, and says, “No, I never have. Renee thinks I should — she’s the only one who knows for sure, by the way — because she worked with my mom. She was the original Black Canary.”

Dinah says it like she expects Helena to recognize the title, and deep down, something stirs in her memory — newspaper headlines and dinner-table conversations that she was probably too young to be listening to.

“I’ve thought about it, though,” Dinah continues, half-lost in thought. “And seeing you doing the hero thing… I don’t know. Maybe someday.”

“I’m not a hero,” Helena says abruptly. She’s never had any delusions of grandeur about her mission — it was never about the common good, or any of the trite phrases people always throw around. It was just about revenge, pure and simple, and now it’s done, so it’s about nothing at all.

“Alright,” Dinah responds easily. “You could be, though. Got a big heart under all that toughness.” She reaches out and taps twice on Helena’s chest, over her heart, and Helena feels the warmth of her touch even through her shirt.

“You could be too.” Helena believes it wholeheartedly. Dinah’s got the kind of quiet, fierce goodness that Helena’s never seen in herself, the kind that could lead an army or comfort a crying child with equal ease. “If you ever wanted.” Helena can read between the lines that the original Black Canary had died, and that her death was a result of her heroism. The thought of the same fate befalling Dinah makes Helena feel cold all over, but even so, part of her thinks that Dinah would wear the mantle of a hero well.

“Maybe someday,” Dinah repeats, eyes faraway. But her vision clears, and she shoots Helena a grin. “Huntress and Black Canary. We’d make a hell of a team, huh?”

“Damn right,” Helena agrees.

“Bet Renee would want in, though.”

“And Harley,” Helena adds. “She’d kick ass in those roller-skates.”

Dinah laughs, a clear, golden sound that illuminates the air even more brightly than the late morning sun. “I wouldn’t want to end up on her bad side, that’s for sure.”

As if reminded by the talk of Renee and Harley, Dinah checks the time. “Shit. I gotta go, they’ll need me for lunch. You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah, of course.” It’s not a lie; Helena’s tired, and her headache hasn’t gone away, but it’s nothing she can’t handle.

“Don’t come back for your bike until you’re feeling a hundred percent, you hear? Nobody’s gonna touch it, else they’ll face the wrath of Renee Montoya. And don’t do any dumb shit.” Dinah’s voice is stern, but her eyes sparkle.

“Yes, ma’am,” Helena says, trying for sarcasm but mostly sounding like a total sucker, probably.

“That’s more like it.” Dinah leans in, and Helena meets her halfway, smiling like an idiot against Dinah’s lips.

Dinah pulls away all too soon, saying, “Oh, shit! Here, put your number in my phone, so I can get ahold of you. I’ll text you so you have mine.”

Helena does as Dinah says, handing the phone back. Dinah types something quickly, and Helena’s phone buzzes with the new message.

“Thanks,” Dinah says. “Wait, look —”

Helena looks up, and Dinah snaps a picture before Helena realizes what she’s doing.

“Hey!” She lunges across the gearshift, but Dinah holds the phone out of reach and laughs.

“Your face is priceless. Just perfect.” Dinah flashes the screen at Helena so that she can see her new contact photo. Come to think of it, Helena hasn’t had her picture taken — apart from for a fake passport — since she was in fourth grade. It’s weird, but surprisingly alright. It’s not a bad picture, either; in it, Helena’s looking up expectantly through her eyelashes, a puzzled little smile playing on her lips, and there’s a softness in her eyes that Helena’s never seen before. Since her family died, there's only ever been hardness in her gaze, flinty resolve and cold anger.

The softness, Helena decides, isn’t half-bad. 

“You have my number if you need anything, alright? Or if you want to talk.” Dinah’s gaze holds Helena’s own. “No running off on me this time.”

“I won’t,” Helena promises. _Never_ , she thinks, not if she can help it.

“Good.” Dinah leans back, elbow resting on the edge of the driver’s side door. She's a vision in the sunlight, her gold jewelry and hairpieces gleaming, her eyes warm amber. 

Helena opens the door and steps onto the sidewalk, breathing in the warm air of late spring. “Thanks for the ride,” she calls over the purr of the engine.

“Anytime,” Dinah answers with a smile, and she pulls away from the curb with a wave.

Helena waves back, even though Dinah probably can’t see it, and she stands on the sidewalk even after Dinah’s car has disappeared, not bothering to fight the smile on her face.

Something warm and bright wells up inside her — happiness, freedom, or a combination of those and a hundred emotions Helena can’t begin to name. It’s good — great, really — and Helena thinks that she could get used to the feeling.

Helena’s top priority is finding a new apartment, so as she recovers that day and the next, she spends as much time as she can manage browsing Zillow. Even a studio apartment in Gotham is exorbitant, she discovers, and though she has plenty of money in her account thanks to Sal and Luca, it won’t last forever. Even with the possibility that she’ll find her family’s diamond, which is becoming more likely each day as she pieces together leads, there’s something telling Helena that if she’s going to start this new life, she shouldn’t do it by halves. 

She isn’t stupid, though. Helena knows that there aren’t many places that will hire someone with no high school diploma or work experience. She supposes that she could turn to Sal and Luca for help, ask them to forge school records and job references, but it doesn’t quite sit right with her, for the same reason that she doesn’t want to rely on their finances forever: she wants to feel some modicum of independence, of autonomy over her new path.

So she texts Dinah. _Looking for a job. Any ideas?_

Dinah doesn’t respond right away, but Helena doesn’t expect her to, and so she puts her phone away and heads out into the Gotham streets to go apartment-hunting.

In the end, it’s not much of a hunt at all. The first place she tours is small and plain, but it’s clean and in a decent building and reasonably priced to boot, which is really all Helena needs. 

(And if it’s only six blocks from the cafe, well, that’s just an added bonus.)

She shakes the landlord’s hand on the spot and hands over a stack of bills for the down payment in exchange for the keys.

Even though she only has a couple duffle bags’ worth of possessions, a significant portion of that consisting of weapons, Helena figures she’ll wait to move in until she has her bike back. Tomorrow, she thinks, she’ll be ready. The concussion had ended up being fairly mild, or at least she guesses as much; otherwise, she would probably be feeling much worse. 

When she gets back to the motel, there are two new messages from Dinah: 

_you’d make a hell of a bouncer. i can ask around for openings_

_in the meantime i know a cafe that might be hiring ;)_

Helena bites back a smile and sends back, _I’ll keep that in mind._

Which is how Helena ends up back at the cafe the next day, a bouquet of flowers — daffodils, of course — tucked under one arm. She’d bought them on a whim from a little florist shop she’d passed on her walk. It’s another beautiful day, and Helena hadn’t minded the walk at all, mood lightened in equal measure by the nice weather and the thought of her destination.

Helena sees Dinah behind the counter before she opens the door, and her heart gives a little flutter as she pauses, one hand on the door handle, and watches Dinah ring up a customer and thank them with a sunny smile. Dinah catches sight of Helena, and her smile widens as Helena opens the door.

“What’s this?” Dinah asks teasingly, taking the flowers when Helena offers them. “You trying to woo me, H?”

“Maybe,” Helena says as nonchalantly as possible.

“Well, you’re doing a damn good job.” Dinah finds a vase for the flowers and looks up, eyes softening. “You remembered, huh?”

“Of course.” Helena couldn’t forget if she wanted to — daffodil yellow, Dinah’s favorite color. And the rest of the conversation that had taken place that night, Dinah’s voice and the gentleness of her touch distracting Helena from her aches and pains, is tucked away in the corner of her memory that holds hazy recollections of her family and rare trips to the beaches of Sicily with Sal and Luca. 

The way Dinah’s looking at her makes Helena want to lean over the counter and pick up where they left off yesterday, but she thinks that might be unprofessional. Besides, Harley spots her and skates over.

“Hey, you’re alive! Good to see ya, doll.” She narrows her eyes and points at Helena accusingly. “You’re not gonna ditch again, are you? ‘Cause I’m warnin’ ya, not a good idea.”

“I won’t.”

Harley nods, approving. “Good. Aw, didja bring her flowers?” She buries her face in the petals and inhales happily. “Where’d ya get them? The little place on 36th, gal by the name of Pam?”

“That’s it.”

Harley sighs dreamily. “She’s the _best._ An environmentalist, too!” She pushes back from the counter, twirling lazily on her skates and winking. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Toodles!”

Once it’s just the two of them again, Dinah leans against the counter. “Come back for your bike? Or just to say hi?”

“Both, actually. And…” Helena schools her face into as serious of an expression as she can manage. “I’d like to apply for a job.”

Dinah grins. “No kidding? Alright. I’d hire you on the spot, but Renee’s a stickler. You free for an interview tomorrow, 3 o’clock?”

“Sure.”

“Perfect. Hey, you gonna order anything? I’ll take my break in ten minutes or so, keep you company, if you can wait.”

“I’d love that.” Helena means it. “The usual, please.”

“Cinnamon latte, coming right up.” 

Helena’s never been to a job interview before, but she’d thought that it couldn't possibly be that hard — plus, she knows Renee, which should make it a breeze.

She’s wrong. 

“Name?”

“Helena Ber — uh, Balistreri.” Just because Renee knows her real name doesn’t mean Helena can go around introducing herself as the long-lost heir to the Bertinelli fortune.

“Uh-huh.” Renee is clearly unimpressed. “Any prior work experience? I’m talking working a register, making drinks. Not…” She trails off, but Helena knows what she’s not saying: _not meticulously executing the men who killed your family._

“Uh.” Helena fidgets. “No.”

“You have a diploma? GED?”

“No.”

“Give me one reason why I should hire you.”

She’d known to prepare for a question like this, thanks to a significant amount of time spent googling interview tips that morning. Helena straightens up, making sure to project confidence — which she’d learned was vital — and answers, “I’m a hard worker and a quick learner. And I’m good under pressure.”

Renee tilts her head and concedes, “Well, that’s something. Alright, if a customer starts acting rude, what do you do? No weapons allowed.”

Helena rolls her eyes — she’s not stupid. “I would… tell them to leave?” Too harsh? “No, I would ask them politely…” She grimaces. “How I can help.”

“If some asshole mouths off to, say, Dinah, what would you do?”

 _No weapons_. It’s an unfortunate rule. _Do fists count as weapons?_ Helena wonders, but decides not to ask — something tells her that it wouldn’t go over well. 

“I would tell him — _ask_ him not to speak to her that way, and then make him leave.” _By any means necessary,_ she adds mentally.

Renee looks like she’s fighting to keep a smile from breaking her stern exterior and clears her throat. “You mind getting up early?”

“No.” Helena’s used to rising at dawn; she’d been doing ever since she’d arrived in Sicily and begun to train. 

“Can you follow a recipe?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Thank God.” Renee looks genuinely relieved. “What the hell, you’re hired. Won’t be many hours, but Dinah’s trying to get you a spot as a bouncer, right?” At Helena’s nod, Renee continues, “You don’t seem like the customer service type, so if you get here an hour or so early — we open at seven on weekdays and eight on weekends — you can prep for open, sweeping and stocking and the like, and when the front’s ready you can get to work mixing batter and doing any prep work in the back. Easy shit, you can handle it.”

At this point, Helena doesn’t care what she’ll be doing. “That sounds great. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Renee waves her off. “Welcome to the team. I’ll get the hiring paperwork. And Helena?”

Helena looks at her expectantly.

“Don’t fuck this up.”

Helena doesn’t know if she’s talking about the job, or Dinah, or both — probably both. Either way, it’s abundantly clear that Renee is not someone she wants on her bad side.

“I won’t.” 

Renee looks at her critically, then says, “Hmph,” and walks away. “Another fuckin’ stray,” she mutters, and even though Helena doesn’t know what she’s talking about, she smiles anyway.

And just like that, Helena’s got the normal life she’d never thought possible: an apartment all her own, a job, coworkers-slash-friends, and Dinah. 

She loves it. 

It’s happiness, what she’s feeling, and she discovers it in the smallest moments: walking to work as the sky begins to brighten at the horizon, watching the sunrise through the windows of the cafe as she preps the front for opening, donning her apron and the nametag she’d let Cass decorate, humming along to the radio as she mixes a batch of batter. 

And Dinah, of course.

Helena still feels guilty for leaving their first date — and even thinking the word _date_ in relation to Dinah makes Helena's heart skip a beat — so one evening a few days into her new job at the cafe, at the end of Dinah’s shift, Helena parks her bike in front of the cafe and goes inside. She waves to Cass, who’s sitting at a table with a flurry of papers spread in front of her and headphones on, and smiles at Dinah. “Hi.”

“Hey, you. What’s up?”

 _Clear and confident,_ Helena tells herself. “Can I take you to dinner tonight?”

Dinah leans across the counter, eyes sparkling. “Thought you’d never ask.” For a moment, Helena thinks that Dinah’s going to close the distance between them, but Dinah pulls back almost regretfully and flashes a smile. “Give me ten minutes? I’ll meet you outside.”

Eight minutes later, Dinah’s arms wrap tightly around Helena’s waist, her head resting on Helena’s shoulder, and Helena has to remind herself to breathe as she revs the engine.

“Ready?” she calls back above the purr of the engine.

“Ready,” Dinah confirms, and a moment later they’re speeding through Gotham in the light of the setting sun. Dinah laughs delightedly, the wind carrying the sound away, and Helena’s smiling wider than she ever thought possible, because she could live in this moment for the rest of her life and want for nothing more.

\---

“I never imagined this,” Helena says quietly one night as they lie side-by-side, the streetlight outside the window casting Helena's features in an unearthly light as she gazes at the ceiling — still beautiful, though. Helena’s always beautiful, whether she’s reading a recipe with her brow furrowed in concentration or listening to Harley ramble with a look on her face that’s half-confusion and half-amusement or quizzing Cass with flashcards to help her study. But she’s most beautiful like this, when it’s just the two of them, at night or pressed together on Helena’s bike or in the quiet mornings at the cafe before opening, when Dinah pulls Helena in with a hand on her waist and sways her in time to the music playing on the radio and kisses her, not giving a damn that anyone walking by could see them there in the golden morning light, and when they part, always far too soon, Dinah combs Helena’s hair back from her face and Helena looks at her with a depth of awe, of bliss, of trust that once would have scared Dinah. Not anymore, though; not with Helena, because Dinah feels just the same, and she’d go to the ends of the earth for her without a moment’s hesitation. 

Dinah doesn’t have to ask what Helena’s talking about, because she knows. Happiness, love, fulfillment — Dinah had believed for years that those things weren’t in the cards, that it was better to close herself off from looking for them than to let herself get hurt even more. 

She was wrong, though, and now? She’s never been happier.

Dinah hooks her leg behind Helena’s ankle, tangling their legs together as she studies her.

“Are you glad you stayed?” 

Helena turns her face, and their eyes meet. “Of course.” As if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“Good.” Dinah shifts closer and presses a kiss to Helena’s bare shoulder, drawing back to look Helena in the eye again. “I am, too.”

Helena doesn’t say anything, but the look in her eyes speaks volumes, and she reaches out and takes Dinah’s hand, holding it tight in a silent promise: _I’ll be here in the morning,_ it seems to say.

“I know,” Dinah whispers, barely audible, and lets herself drift off, lulled by the pulse of Helena’s heartbeat and the warmth of their tangled limbs and the promise of tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! This fic became longer and more complex than I had imagined when I started writing, and it's now the longest fic I've ever written. Initially, I had planned to end with a team-up of Huntress and Black Canary to take down Sionis, but it didn't quite fit the arc of the story; it seemed like it would be unrealistic for Dinah to jump completely on the idea of vigilantism, especially Helena's lethal brand of it, without the exceptionally compelling circumstances that occur in the movie. That said, I tried to leave Helena and Dinah in a position that would be open to the possibility of a team-up at an undetermined point after the events of this story. I would love to hear what you all think! 
> 
> Once again, thank you all for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting! Wishing you all safety and good health!


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